


All The Seasons Of My Heart (Ineffable Advent)

by Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Sex, Angel Sexuality (Good Omens), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dancing as Foreplay, Established Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Healing, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Major Character Injury, Making Out, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Naked Cuddling, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Rough Kissing, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wing stuff, and it's not particularly graphic, but sort of softlit, but the smut is in the last few chapters, but yeah they do switch, i can't believe i remembered to tag angel sex but not anal sex!, is that even a thing, it's all pretty softlit tbh, no beta we die like men, not snake sex but sort of snake romance (just one chapter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 45,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk
Summary: It started under the mistletoe on a winter night in Soho, 1881. Or perhaps it started in a flower-strewn cave in Mesopotamia.Wherever it started, it's become a tradition for Aziraphale and Crowley to meet (almost) every festive season. Just one night where they don't have to hide their feelings for each other. It starts with a kiss, but it's always meant so much more.This is part UST-fuelled slow burn and part soft, soft historical-to-modern romance.Written over a month for @forineffablereasons (Tumblr) Ineffable Advent prompt list.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 534
Kudos: 431





	1. Edinburgh 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even behind the dark glasses he could see the realisation dawn in Crowley’s eyes, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. Aziraphale had a heartbeat to consider that Crowley wrapped up against the cold, with the colourful lights catching his flame red hair and lending it multiple hues, was the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld.

**Edinburgh 2020**

**New Year's Eve**

* * *

“I’m not sure about this, Crowley.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, brow furrowed. He couldn't repress a smile, though. Crowley so rarely asked him for anything, and such a small, simple thing too. Of course Aziraphale was going to say yes. Now they were free and clear of their previous sides, Crowley rather enjoyed persuading him into things (some decidedly more innocent than others), and Aziraphale was always more than happy to indulge the demon in his favourite forms of temptation.

Crowley gave him that star-searing smile.

“You can hold me close and pretend it’s just for balanssssse.”

The last word was hissed in his ear, a sure promise of a greater reward later that night.

“Come on then, you wily old serpent. But you are treating me to cocoa.”

The twinkling lights reflected on the ice and the scent of cinnamon and orange in the air filled Aziraphale with joy. All around them couples laughed together while children tugged on their parents' hands and begged to visit Santa in his grotto.

Doubts forgotten, the angel quickly fastened his skates. The excitement of Crowley suggesting an outing and choosing the activity, feeling safe to ask for what he wanted, warmed him more than any mulled wine. Crowley was watching him with that indulgent smile, and Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow pink.

“Come on.”

He got unsteadily to his feet, gripping Crowley’s arm for balance.

“If I can dance the gavotte I can most certainly figure this out.”

He said firmly, trying not to think of the other times he and Crowley had tried to skate, and he'd proven himself a most inelegant participant. Thankfully Crowley’s serpentine tendencies gifted him with the ability to glide and turn easily, shifting his weight as his skates swooshed over the ice. He took Aziraphale‘ arm, steering him carefully. They continued in companionable silence, swishing their way across the ice, the New Year's Eve air peppering Aziraphale’s face with little stinging kisses.

At first Aziraphale thought Crowley was staying alert to ensure his angel didn’t slip on the ice. Then he noticed the tell-tale signs. Looking at the excitable Hogmanay crowd as if examining every face. Skating a smooth circle around him, patrolling. The tiny almost imperceptible flinch when a raucous reveller shouted a little too loudly.

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale put his hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of the expensive black wool coat. The demon halted at the touch, then watched in bemusement as the angel skated a wobbly circle around him. It had the desired effect, eliciting an amused snort. Aziraphale stopped in front of his demonic husbnad, taking both gloved hands in his and gazing earnestly, leaning so close the chilly tips of their noses touched.

“You don’t have to do that anymore.”

Even behind the dark glasses he could see the realisation dawn in Crowley’s eyes, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. Aziraphale had a heartbeat to consider that Crowley wrapped up against the cold, with the colourful lights catching his flame red hair and lending it multiple hues, was the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld. Then the demon was kissing him and laughing for joy against him. Aziraphale sighed at the feel of his lips warming his own as they both leaned into a kiss of freedom, cupping each other’s faces as skaters swirled around them, his heart swelling as he thought about the many years of Christmasses that had led them to this point, to this new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ice Skating 
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: I Found (Amber Run)
> 
> There's also a playlist of all the songs I listened to while writing this fic! Find it here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLGcvniigu7OH84Bt34lBZ6_IJ91T45e_5


	2. Soho 1881

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale busied himself with the simmering wine, the scent of cloves and cinnamon filling his nostrils as he ladled the spiced drink into two glasses. What he wanted to say was, it mattered to me that I make this for you. I wanted you to know how worthy you are of my time. What he wanted to say was, I’m sorry, I should have told you the real reason for my fear. That a world without you is a world I could not long live in.

**Soho, 1881**

* * *

Aziraphale was pacing back and forth across the bookshop floor, twisting his hands worriedly in front of him, and glaring across the room at the offending object. He’d become rather fond of festive decorations in the last few years. He supposed as an angel it was somewhat part of the job description to spread a little cheer at Christmas, although of course as an angel he’d been around long before Christmas was invented. He’d always liked the winter celebrations though, and he’d seen many of them in many different eras. There was something pleasing to him about bringing merriment and warmth to the cold, dark days.

And so, he’d begun decorating the bookshop sometime around 1875. Crowley would probably tease him, but he and Crowley hadn't spoken since St James's park, a fact which made Aziraphale's chest ache. If things went according to plan, that would soon change.

He'd got into the festive spirit just as he had every other year. He started by bringing home a large tree and spent a happy afternoon festooning it with popcorn garlands, silvered walnuts, and delicate white candles. He wondered the humans weren’t more wary about setting candles on a tree but, well, he could easily keep his safe. He already kept a low level of protection around the bookshop to protect it from fires, floods, and over-enthusiastic customers.

The mistletoe had been an afterthought, really. He’d come across a fine specimen growing nearby, and given Crowley’s liking for flowers and plants, Aziraphale hoped the little white berries would speak his intent even if his nervous heart failed him and wouldn’t let him say a word.

It had seemed a whimsical idea at the time. Now, he thought it rather gauche. He’d invited Crowley here to apologise to him for their fight. It had been nearly twenty years; not long by their standards, but too long to let such painful barbs pile between them like the needles from the tree. No, this was absolutely not the time for semi-romantic gestures, or flirty hints. This wasn’t the Bastille. Now was the time for honesty. Resolute, Aziraphale took a step towards the offending plant, intending to remove it, when the bell above the door jangled and a very chilled-looking Crowley swept in, stamping the snow from his boots and blowing on his fingers to warm them.

“Some night, Angel. I hope you have some decent wine to make it worth coming out in this blessed weather.”

“I started making mulled wine a while ago. It should be done now.”

“You could have just miracled it.”

“A bit frivolous.”

Aziraphale busied himself with the simmering wine, the scent of cloves and cinnamon filling his nostrils as he ladled the spiced drink into two glasses. What he wanted to say was, it mattered to me that I make this for you. I wanted you to know how worthy you are of my time. What he wanted to say was, I’m sorry, I should have told you the real reason for my fear. That a world without you is a world I could not long live in. Crowley didn’t sit down, but he removed his top hat and greatcoat, and placed them on the nearby hat stand, before taking a long – obscenely long – slug of the mulled wine.

“Not bad at all.”

If he was attempting to sound casual, it was failing. The tightness in his voice seemed like a violin string, that when plucked resonated in Aziraphale’s heart. He was a little afraid they both might break.

“Crowley -”

He began, but the demon shushed him, not unkindly.

“We’re not going to agree, Angel. Look. It’s nearly Christmas. Season of goodwill and all that. Let’s drink extraordinary amounts, sample at least six of the desserts I know you have stashed here, and put the whole stupid fight on hold.”

Aziraphale took a long swig of his own wine. It would be so easy to say yes. But he could still see the sadness in Crowley’s eyes that day, and the echo of it now whenever he glimpsed the sun-scorched gold over the rim of his glasses. He couldn’t just sit there complicit in that pain …

“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you"

He blurted out, ploughing on before he could lose his nerve.

"I’m afraid that if I give you holy water and someone comes for you, you’ll take the … the road of no return, and I … I couldn’t ….”

Crowley was staring at him. 

“How much wine have you had, Angel?”

He said, but there was no malice in it, and he sat down on the couch beside Aziraphale instead of in his usual spot opposite him. Neither of them mentioned it again, but something had thawed between them. Aziraphale could feel it in his chest, where the knot of fear had been replaced by warmth that he knew wasn’t only from the wine. He hoped Crowley could feel it too. The demon’s easy laugh and genuine smile hinted that he did.

They talked until the lamplighter returned to extinguish the gas lamps on the street outside. The conversation flowed even easier than the wine, and twice as sweet. When Crowley got up to leave, Aziraphale had to tamp down the urge to grab his hand and beg him to stay. Instead, he got up with a smile and handed the demon his hat. Crowley smiled slightly, and the space between them almost shimmered with dozens of unsaid things. For one reckless moment Aziraphale considered asking him to remove the damn glasses so he could read the expression in his eyes. But then the moment was gone and Crowley was striding to the door with a breezy “later, Angel.” Casting around for something, anything, to stop him leaving, Aziraphale seized on Crowley’s gloves, abandoned on the table.

“Wait!”

Crowley stopped at the door, staring back at the angel with a look intense enough to be seen from behind the dark glasses.

“You forgot these ….”

Aziraphale walked over, gloves held in his outstretched hand. Crowley took them, his fingers brushing over the angel’s. Was Aziraphale imagining it, or did Crowley let his hand linger? Then the demon glanced up, towards the mistletoe, and Aziraphale rather wished he could teleport back to Heaven and get a lecture from Gabriel, rather than live through the mortification of that moment.

“Well, Angel, I hope you’re not expecting any other visitors. If I knew they were getting kisses under the mistletoe instead of me, I might have to kill them.” Crowley raised an eyebrow playfully, but his desire to be the one Aziraphale kissed shone clear, and made Aziraphale giddy.

“Well of course I’m not!”

He stopped, Crowley’s words registering at last. For a moment, Aziraphale thought he understood how Baldr must have felt. Mistletoe wasn’t his one weakness, but Crowley’s reaction to seeing it there had the capacity to stop his heart, if the way it was skipping beats was anything to go by. Any further thought was swept deftly aside by the sudden sensation of Crowley’s lips slowly brushing his, the taste of gun-smoke and sparks making him dizzy as Crowley wrapped him tight in his arms. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Angel.”

He murmured against Aziraphale. 

“Believe me, if the other demons come for me the only thing I shall want to kill is them, so I can stay with you.”

Aziraphale drew back at that, cupping Crowley’s cheek in his hand. Crowley smiled down at him, then broke into a teasing grin.

“Now this kind of fraternizing I could get used to. And after all that wine I’m rather in the mood for dessert …”

Aziraphale was about to protest that their previous fight was no laughing matter. But then slender fingers were tangled in his hair and soft lips were claiming his again, and not even the most delicate of the snowflakes swirling in the dawn outside were as light as Aziraphale's heart in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Misletoe
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: Sinners (Lauren Aquilina)


	3. Mafeking 1899

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m not naive, dear boy. I know we are both being watched. We have to exercise a little caution if we want to keep getting away with the arrangement. If we want to keep seeing each other.”
> 
> Crowley nodded. There was nothing Aziraphale could do to get him out of this assignment, yet somehow it felt like a rescue. And the angel was right there, seeming to cool and soften the thick air of the room, and his soft lips were warm on Crowley’s thin fingertips as he said such things. He didn’t trust himself to speak lest he beg Aziraphale to curse … bless ... Heaven and Hell both, and give himself only to Crowley.

**Mafeking, South Africa**

**1899**

* * *

Crowley trudged back into the simple inn room, shoulders sagging. Since 1881, he and Aziraphale had got into the habit of drinking together at least once every festive season. Much to Crowley’s disappointment, their emotional, heated kiss had never been repeated. Sometimes he thought it might be. He’d catch a certain look in the angel’s eye when he made to pour another glass. On one memorable occasion they’d gone for a stroll round St James’s Park in the snow. Aziraphale, entranced by the soft glow of the lamps turning the swirling snow into eddies of light, had turned to him with a smile, and for one moment …

But then the angel had seemed to check himself, giving Crowley’s arm a companionable squeeze and steering them back towards the bookshop for hot cocoa. There was no wine that night, as if Aziraphale wanted to stay in full control of his impulses. Or perhaps Crowley enjoyed thinking of it that way, in tiny private moments. Still, the warmth of Aziraphale sitting beside him, the sweet cocoa, the twinkling candles on the tree … all in all it was still a worthwhile tradition. 

Then the British had decided a second war in Boer was a capital idea and Lord Beelzebub had decided it was the perfect place for some temptations. Crowley partook as little as he could get away with, relieved that the humans were cruel enough without his input. Still, the violence and bloodlust was enough to make him queasy, and wish he could take a good century-long nap.

The tiny inn in Mafeking was stuffy, the warm air outside doing nothing to alleviate the oppressive feeling. Crowley longed for his spacious townhouse in London, and more than that, he longed for Aziraphale. Tired and frustrated he threw himself face down on the bed and buried his face against the foul-smelling pillow. Outside, sounds of rifle-fire echoed around the town. God rest you merry, gentlemen, indeed.

He hardly noticed the gentle hands on his back at first, then he smiled into the pillow and turned onto his back, the smile still on his face.

“Angel ….”

Aziraphale sat on the bed, gentle fingers stroking Crowley’s cheek. 

“Christmas in London just isn’t the same without you, dear.”

Relief battled decorum and won a resounding victory as Crowley turned his head to gently kiss Aziraphale’s fingers, holding his hand as if terrified it would be withdrawn. The angel smiled gently at him.

“It’s for your own good, you know.”

He said, seemingly apropos of nothing, removing his hand from Crowley’s only to gently run his fingertips across the demon’s lower lip.

“And probably for mine too.”

Crowley looked up at him, confused. The hot winter light was creating a soft halo around his snow-blonde hair, and Crowley thought he was quite possibly the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. He reached up to rest his palm against that lovely cheek, and Aziraphale leaned into it with a regretful sigh.

“What are you talking about, Angel?”

“Keeping my distance. I do think about our kiss, Crowley, every day.”

The angel said softly, feathering gentle kisses against Crowley’s fingers in between the words.

“But I’m not naive, dear boy. I know we are both being watched. We have to exercise a little caution if we want to keep getting away with the arrangement. If we want to keep seeing each other.”

Crowley nodded. There was nothing Aziraphale could do to get him out of this assignment, yet somehow it felt like a rescue. And the angel was right there, seeming to cool and soften the thick air of the room, and his soft lips were warm on Crowley’s thin fingertips as he said such things. He didn’t trust himself to speak lest he beg Aziraphale to curse … bless ... Heaven and Hell both, and give himself only to Crowley.

“Is that … not alright, dear boy?”

Crowley realised he had drifted so far into longing that he’d quite tuned out what Aziraphale was saying. 

“I’m sorry, angel. What did you say?”

Aziraphale exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes suddenly brighter and harder.

“Oh, you do like to make things difficult sometimes, you serpent. I said, I cannot let myself get too close to you, because if I start loving you I shall never be able to stop, and we will both be in danger.”

Crowley stared. And then burst out laughing.

“Crowley! How is this funny?”

“’m sorry Angel” he managed to choke out between wheezing peals of laughter. “It’s just that you said everything I’ve wanted to hear you say since Eden, and I missed it” (and here he nearly discorporated due to laughing too hard to even pretend to breathe) “cause I was too busy trying not to tell you how much I love you.”

“Well, really. This is the most inglorious declaration of love we could possibly have managed. I at least expected flowers.”

Aziraphale was indignant, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“But I do love you, Crowley. Please remember that if … if ever I have to pretend otherwise, to keep you safe.”

Crowley was solemn now, gazing up at the most familiar, beloved face in the world.

“I’ll remember, Angel. And if you get scared and feel you have to push me away. I’ll come back. I’ll always come back.”

Aziraphale almost smiled at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh Crowley.”

Was all he said, though he leaned down and brushed his lips against the demon’s forehead as if in supplication. For several long moments there was no sound in the room except their breathing, a little faster and more ragged than it should properly have been. It was Crowley who broke the silence.

“Stay awhile?”

Aziraphale nodded, silently lying down on the bed beside Crowley and wrapping one arm over his waist. Crowley closed his eyes, not quite trusting himself not to cry, but there was something else too. A tiny, hopeful fluttering, like white dove’s wings inside his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blue Christmas
> 
> Song I listened to on repeat while writing this: Samson (cover by Matthew Luke Sandoval)


	4. Vermont 1905

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t need to say anything. I know. And I just wanted one night drinking in front of the fire with you, like we used to do. That alright, Angel?”
> 
> Aziraphale nodded, fingers twining with Crowley’s and mapping out unsung songs of love against his narrow hand, worshipping the long, delicate bones. 

**Bennington, Vermont 1905**

* * *

The snow was falling softly outside the window, and had been so doing for the last several hours. Aziraphale watched as it carpeted the winter-bare shoulders of the Vermont hills in glittering powder that absorbed sound and left a peaceful hush. The other residents of The Clayton Inn had long since retired, leaving him alone in the elegant yet homely lounge. The log fire crackled cheerfully, warming him, and the soft glow of the candles on the Christmas tree lent a calming light to the room.

Or perhaps Aziraphale felt calm because he knew Crowley would be with him soon. He’d eagerly accepted the demon’s invitation to meet him in Vermont “for tradition’s sake.” The six years since Mafeking had felt more like six centuries. They’d met just once, briefly, to carry out the arrangement (Aziraphale had agreed to tempt an Italian aristocrat to a little art theft, seeing as he was going to be in Milan anyway to bless the work of a charitably-minded woman who was doing wonderful things for the poor.) They had been pleasant enough with each other, but professional, lending a businesslike tone to the proceedings. Aziraphale supposed they were both working out how to handle the clumsy, ridiculous, beautiful confession of love they’d shared on that warm winter night in a war-torn town.

They’d skipped their yearly tradition of festive drinking since then, and Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to push. So when the invitation had come from Crowley, he’d shut the bookshop (not that he needed much encouragement to keep customers away) and miracled himself to Vermont, nagging from Gabriel be damned. He’d kept himself busy that day performing a few small festive miracles. More than one family in town suddenly found themselves with more food than they’d realized, or a little extra in the coffers. Never enough to arouse suspicion, but always enough to make life a touch easier. After a very festive meal of turkey, parsnips and succulent scalloped oysters, followed by plum pudding, he’d settled into a comfortable chair beside the window to watch the falling snow drifting lazily in the lamplight.

As the grandfather clock ticked out the minutes, Aziraphale felt himself becoming less calm with each moment. Crowley had invited him, but still, he didn’t know how they fit together now, when their feelings were laid out between them like a map to a place only they knew. He fiddled with the neatly-wrapped box he’d stashed under the table. Perhaps bringing a gift was too much.

“Cold enough to freeze boiling sulphur out there, Angel.”

Crowley strode into the room and draped himself casually in the chair opposite Aziraphale, leaving the heavy oak table between them.

“Very festive in here though. The decorations are quite beautiful.”

He said it easily, but the quick glance Aziraphale caught over the top of the dark glasses burned like temptation. Flustered, the angel poured a whisky for Crowley and pushed it across the table to him.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

The demon shrugged one shoulder and made a non-committal noise, taking a sip that looked like it was trying too hard to be casual.

“Been tempting the humans to give more presents. Apparently, the vicar here thinks too much gift giving is the work of the devil, taking away from the true meaning of the season and all that. Figured you’d tut and roll your eyes at me, all while being highly amused at the church’s demonization of doing nice things for other human beings. At little bit of well-placed indignation is my favourite festive entertainment.”

At that he leaned his chin on his hand and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Aziraphale surprised himself with a bark of laughter, shaking his head.

“Oh you haven’t changed. You’re still the … the same ...”

“Wily old serpent you love, even if you can’t often admit it?”

Crowley finished for him, taking Aziraphale’s hand in his own and softly kissing each finger. When the angel drew his breath in sharply, Crowley, looked up at him, his lips still pressed to soft angelic flesh.

“You don’t need to say anything. I know. And I just wanted one night drinking in front of the fire with you, like we used to do. That alright, Angel?”

Aziraphale nodded, fingers twining with Crowley’s and mapping out unsung songs of love against his narrow hand, worshipping the long, delicate bones. 

“I got you something.”

He blurted, before he could change his mind. Crowley grinned.

“What would the vicar say? You, an angel, doing the very thing that so disconcerted him?”

Aziraphale shook his head fondly, retrieving the gift from under the table, the black tissue paper crinkling under his fingers as he offered it to Crowley. The demon looked from the gift to the angel and back again, before teasing the crimson ribbon free of its neat bow. Neither could have said who was more surprised when his free hand, resting quite peaceably around the tumbler as he lifted the lid from the box, flexed violently enough to shatter the glass. Aziraphale was stirred to immediate action, miracling away the sharp shards and spilled whisky.

“Crowley, I’m sorry. I … I thought it was a nice gesture. Are you angry? Oh, it’s sentimental nonsense really, isn’t it ...”

“Shut up, Angel.”

His voice was warm despite the words as he carefully – reverently, Aziraphale would have said – lifted the moonstone-white primary feather from its bed of black velvet.

“Aziraphale …. fuck.”

“As soon as its safe to yes, dear boy, though I fear that may not be for many moons yet.”

Crowley nearly choked on a sound that was half-splutter, half-laugh, and Aziraphale didn’t need to see his eyes to know the supernova yellow had spilled over the whites. His fingers played lightly over the soft white barbs with their watercolour hints of light gold and winter blue.

“You gave me ...”

“Oh, it fell out when I was grooming them. It means nothing. Nothing at all.”

Crowley’s smile could have rivalled any of the stars he hung in the sky. They both knew how much it meant. Carefully placing the feather back in its box, he lifted Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it, only the tight grip of his fingers hinting at anything more than friendly, easy warmth.

“I think I might quite like the twentieth century. Merry Christmas, Angel.”

Aziraphale took a ragged breath, the sound of Crowley’s voice darting straight to his heart. There it added fuel to the fire that already burned, and that Aziraphale truly knew for the first time would one day grow to a conflagration that would leave him ready to defy heaven and hell both.

“Merry Christmas … my love.”

And the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Presents
> 
> Song I listened to on repeat while writing this: Snow (Loreena McKennitt)


	5. Bath 1926

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was starving, without Aziraphale. He felt like an incomplete star chart, missing the brightest points. But for that night he was satiated, finding entire constellations in the warmth of Aziraphale’s body so close, and the sound of his heartbeat in time with Crowley’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Crowley is feminine-presenting. He still uses male pronouns in his internal monolgue, but Aziraphale uses She / Her pronouns for him. I tried writing it different ways in regards to Crowley's pronouns, and this way flowed most naturally for me so I went with it.

**Bath, England**

**1926**

* * *

Crowley took a long draw from the cigarette in its elegant holder, and trailed a well-manicured cherry red nail down his companion’s lapel. The young man took a step back, not understanding that he’d just been subject to a tiny trace of hellfire. It wasn’t enough to do lasting damage, but just enough to make it clear Crowley wasn’t in the mood for company. The demon usually enjoyed the lavish parties thrown in the finest Georgian homes in the city of Bath. A trip there to carry out a few quick temptations was practically a holiday. It was a popular, and prosperous city, filled with jazz clubs and fine dining and beautiful people who were still riding the coattails of the post-war prosperity, and out for a fine, wicked time. Tempting them was easy. 

As for the flapper fashions … they were delicious. All silk stockings and garters, feathers and pearls. The dropped waists and low backs seemed made to emphasize his tall, slender body. Since Vermont he and the angel had resumed their yearly festive meetings, and even if Aziraphale would never act on it, Crowley caught the way the angel’s eyes widened at the sight of black silk and red lace clinging to Crowley’s form. 

It would have been kinder, really, to dress a little less provocatively but bless it, he liked feeling wanted. And really, anything that made Aziraphale’s eyes widen half in surprise and half in pleasure like that was very welcome, be that Crowley’s dress, an unexpected jazz riff, or a particularly flavourful cake.

Aziraphale. The very reason Crowley was stalking around the lavish Christmas party, half-heartedly tempting party goers and growling a warning at anyone who approached him. They’d agreed to meet in Bath this year and it felt to Crowley like every second that ticked by lasted several irritating centuries. He wondered if he could speed time up a little to hasten the angel’s arrival. The entire year had passed without one word, one exchange of duties, not so much as a letter. It had to be that way sometimes. He knew that. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Prior to 1881 they’d frequently passed decades, even a century or more, without seeing each other. Now, though, it had become habit to see each other each winter, and with every passing year Crowley felt more and more that he was drowning all year long, only able to take a good lungful of air in December. Oh, they sometimes met for the arrangement. Sometimes they even drank together or went to dinner or introduced each other to the most interesting parts of modern culture. In winter though, things were different. Oh, in winter they allowed themselves one night without boundaries where they could speak the things that were kept caged the rest of the year.

Crowley’s reminiscences were interrupted by something far better – the arrival of the very subject of those bittersweet, fragile memories.

“Darling! You look … like a temptation.”

Aziraphale’s voice was as polite as ever, but even a casual observer could have heard the rasp of longing in the last word. Crowley smiled brightly and leaned forward to kiss his cheek, drinking in the sight of his angel looking sharp and surprisingly up to date in a cream single-breasted suit, offering just a peek of pale gold striped shirt, and a light blue bow tie. Gold wing-shaped cufflinks and a gold topped cane finished the ensemble. 

“You look every inch the gentlemen.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but there was that fond smile, the one that turned Crowley’s heart soft and eager to do anything to please him. When he offered his arm, Crowley wondered for a moment if he might simply fall apart in a cascade of feathers and scales and the memories of stars. With a deep breath he tucked his hand in the crook of Aziraphale’s arm.

“Where to then, darling? I assume you have some perfect little inn booked with at least four bottles of their best red waiting for us.”

“I do, but … “

Crowley leaned in and rested his forehead on the angel’s.

“Would you take a walk with me?”

“I … of course, dear girl.”

Crowley leaned close to Aziraphale for warmth as they stepped out into the frosty night, tiny ice crystals glitttering against the soft golden Bath stone. 

“It truly is a fairytale.”

Aziraphale commented as he took off his thick wool overcoat and, despite Crowley’s protests, wrapped it around the demon’s shoulders. 

“I don’t think Heaven itself is this beautiful.”

His hands were on Crowley’s upper arms, and his bright blue eyes were twinkling as he smiled, and Crowley wasn’t at all sure that they were talking about the city any more. Aziraphale inhaled sharply, as if to stop himself falling Crowley thought (and oh that choice of word pounded in Crowley’s head like a claw hammer), tucking the demon's arm through his again. Crowley steered them past the Roman baths, sacred as they were to the Goddess Sulis, and over Pulteney Bridge with its unique design, elegant shops jostled shoulder to shoulder across the bridge itself. They strolled down to the weir, finding a bench to sit together and watch the winter-dark river.

“Angel, d’you ever wish we could just … be a normal couple … I mean, just be able to walk around together, explore new places ….”

Aziraphale turned to him and Crowley vehemently blessed his excellent eyesight, that gave him a clear view of the naked pain in the angel’s eyes. But then it was gone, like storm clouds, and Aziraphale was giving him a gentle smile.

“Well … we can do that tonight.”

“D’ya think … in Vermont that time, you said one day it would be safe for us to be together. Do you … hope for that?”

“My dearest girl.”

Aziraphale slid his fingers slowly over Crowley’s palm, igniting sparks as he slid them between the demon’s own.

“If I didn’t hold to that hope, I scarcely know how I would endure.”

He used their linked hands to draw Crowley closer, until the demon was draped against his side, sharp angles finding all the best ways to rest against the angel’s softer curves. Aziraphale leaned down and brushed his lips against Crowley’s forehead, fingers finding their way through the wine-red fashionable bobbed hair.

“Don’t lose hope.”

He said, and Crowley smiled against the angel’s chest even as one or two tears leaked from his eyes. He was starving, without Aziraphale. He felt like an incomplete star chart, missing the brightest points. But for that night he was satiated, finding entire constellations in the warmth of Aziraphale’s body so close, and the sound of his heartbeat in time with Crowley’s own. The frost-bitten river glowing in the light from Pulteney bridge and the cold metal bench they sat upon were the only world he needed or would acknowledge tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wishes
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: The Last Time (The Script)


	6. London 1927 / Scotland 1399

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since he and Aziraphale had realized their respective offices were hardly going to watch something as mundane as the postal system, they’d let little endearments slip in to their letters. Aziraphale insisted they burn them after reading, which Crowley thought was overkill, but if it meant seeing himself referred to as “my love”, “my dear”, and in one memorable missive “my darling heart”, he was happy to pay the price of seeing those same words go up in flames.

**London 1927**

* * *

“My dearest Crowley,

I have been recalled to Heaven for a brief time. Thankfully I am told I will be returned to earth at the beginning of next year. Do try not to worry – it’s only a piffling bit of bureaucracy. I shall miss you though. Think of me at Christmas.”

Crowley stared at the letter, already gone supple as chamois leather from being re-read and folded so many times.

_Think of me at Christmas._

It was a simple sentiment, hardly a rousing declaration of love. It made Crowley’s heart warm, though. Since he and Aziraphale had realized their respective offices were hardly going to watch something as mundane as the postal system, they’d let little endearments slip in to their letters. Aziraphale insisted they burn them after reading, which Crowley thought was overkill, but if it meant seeing himself referred to as “my love”, “my dear”, and in one memorable missive “my darling heart”, he was happy to pay the price of seeing those same words go up in flames.

As he reluctantly watched the most recent letter burn to ash in the grate of his London townhouse, Crowley thought back to the first winter night they ever spent together. 

It was the December of 1399, and a bitterly cold one it was. Crowley had been sent to Scotland for the first time, with instructions to tempt Clan MacDonald to pilfer some cattle from Clan Argyll. There’d been unrest in Glencoe since the Clan MacDougall’s stronghold there had collapsed in 1308, making it an ideal target for a little devilry.

Life in 1399 was hardly clean or pleasant. But Crowley had been on earth since the beginning, and anything was better than the stinking, crowded corridors of hell. Up above he could breathe the clean air of the world’s wildest places, letting his eyes gaze upon majestic mountains, crashing rivers, long golden beaches, and all the loveliness the world had to offer.

Earth also had Aziraphale.

Back then they met infrequently. Crowley hadn’t expected to see the angel, especially in a remote Scottish glen. He was curled up on a straw mattress in the simple clay hut he’d commandeered for shelter. There was a fire pit, with a decent blaze, but Crowley still felt chilled to his bones. He drew his knees up to his chest and pressed his face against them.

Slowly the realization came to him that he was lonely. The sparky, irreverent crowd he’d got caught up in before his fall were turned cruel and cowardly. Heaven certainly didn’t want him. The one being who spoke to him with kindness and looked at him like he mattered, only ever appeared in his life for the briefest moments, before disappearing like cool mist dispersing in a quick dawn.

Crowley started when the wooden door rattled, alarm quickly fading to a smile as Aziraphale walked in. He wondered briefly what the angel saw. After all, it was the seventh time in his life being face to face with the serpent of Eden. Crowley should know. He’d counted every one, and kept the memory of each locked up tight inside, allowing himself the occasional peek.

Aziraphale smiled uncertainly.

“I could go, if you like … only I was in the area.”

_Stay. Please stay. Don’t ever leave. Let me look at you every day. I still remember when your fingers brushed against mine, in Mesopotamia. You draw me in more surely than any planet orbiting a star._

“Nah. Keep me company for a bit. Blasted lonely up here on this hill.”

“It is a bit remote. Rather lovely outside, though. It’s snowing.”

“Pardon?”

The angel looked at him in surprise.

“You’ve never seen snow?”

Crowley shrugged, self conscious.

“Don’t know everything She’s doing up here, do I? Hear about most things, but not everything.”

“But haven’t you ever been anywhere cold enough for snow before?”

“Try and stick to warmer climes where I can.”

“I suppose that makes sense, what with you being a …. a ….”

Aziraphale stopped, fingers twisting in front of him.

“You can say it. You said it at Golgotha. Besides, m’ not ashamed of what I am.”

There was a challenge in it now. Crowley sat up straighter, glaring at the angel, who seemed to glow softly in the dimness.

“Dearest, I know, and nor should you be. What I said at Golgotha was uncalled for.”

“You called me ‘dearest’.”

Crowley pointed out, and the angel coloured, the tips of his ears going pink. When he spoke again the words tumbled up against each other in his hurry to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Did you want to see your first snow? I’ll come with you.”

“In case I need protecting.”

Crowley grinned, but he got up and followed Aziraphale through the door and out into the cold midwinter night. His sharp eyes could just about make out the pyramid shaped peak of Buachaille Etive Mor. He stopped, unthinkingly grabbing Aziraphale’s arm. The night was filled with dancing points of winterlight that swirled around them and settled softly on the ground, coating everything in soft white powder. Curious, Crowley flickered his tongue out to taste the air and found it sharp and cool, with a fresh, quiet taste that was impossible to define. He flinched slightly as the flakes fell on his face and hands, completely unused to the sensation. It was like water and yet so different, so cold and soft. He could feel the tiny ice crystals settling on his eyelashes.

“It’s beautiful.”

He said softly, watching the way it clung gently to everything it touched.

“Cold, but beautiful.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, then took a step closer and unfurled his majestic wings, gently tucking one of them around Crowley. The demon felt a soft heat emanating from the principality, melting away any snow that had landed on him, while still letting it fall gently around them. Fascinated, he reached out and ran his fingers over the feathers, remembering when his own wings were white as the snow. When they weren’t scorched. 

Aziraphale inhaled sharply and Crowley dropped his hand quickly. But then the angel’s fingers were tangled with his, guiding his hand back to his wing.

“I liked it.”

His voice was close enough to Crowley’s ear to make the demon shiver. Aziraphale stepped closer, luminous in the dark as if lit from within, and to Crowley’s eyes more beautiful than the snow could ever hope to be. Then his hand was warm against Crowley’s cheek and the demon was turning to kiss the palm as if he’d been made for this exact moment. Aziraphale watched him, the tips of his fingers tracing tiny circles against his cheek, the beginning of a smile playing on his lips. 

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to. Crowley felt certain truths in his heart at that moment, and he could see in Aziraphale’s eyes that he felt them too. There were rules to the universe. The moon pulled the tides. Snow fell in Glencoe on certain winter nights. And a demon and an angel were linked by a thin line of starlight they’d both felt on the first day they met on the wall of Eden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snowed in
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: IDrought (Vienna Teng)


	7. London, 1937

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been quite possibly the longest day of the century. The entire decade spent back in Heaven hadn’t been as long as this particular Christmas Eve. The least said about the last ten years the better, truly. When one is an eternal being, board meetings can go on for a horrendously long time. That’s before you get started on the paperwork.
> 
> The hardest part had been not betraying how desperately he missed Crowley. And now he was back on earth, with firm plans to meet that night (“I’ll pick you up at 6:00, Angel” Crowley had said, over the telephone he’d insisted having installed in the bookshop so he could contact the angel more easily.) Aziraphale looked crossly at his pocketwatch and wondered if he’d accidentally slowed time.

**London, 1937**

* * *

It had been quite possibly the longest day of the century. The entire decade back in Heaven hadn’t been as long as this particular Christmas Eve. The least said about the last ten years the better, truly. When one is an eternal being, board meetings can go on for a horrendously long time. That’s before you get started on the paperwork.

The hardest part had been not betraying how desperately he missed Crowley. And now he was back on earth, with firm plans to meet that night (“I’ll pick you up at 6:00, Angel” Crowley had said, over the telephone he’d insisted having installed in the bookshop.) Aziraphale looked crossly at his pocketwatch and wondered if he’d accidentally slowed time.

He took another turn about the bookshop, idly re-arranging some of the books to make them even less attractive to customers. He kept thinking about that night under the mistletoe in 1881. It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed. That particular honour was reserved for one sultry summer night in Mesopotamia – the night they’d agreed to be very careful, lest the unspoken sparks flying between them burn so bright that neither Heaven nor Hell could miss them. 1881 had been the first time they’d broken that particular resolution, technically. There had been plenty of stolen kisses pressed to fingertips and temples and hair between their first kiss and then, but never on the lips. That night at the end of the 19th century had changed something between them. For Aziraphale, that was the moment they became “us.”

He wondered when that moment was for Crowley.

Any further deliberations were interrupted by the delightful sound of a car horn outside. Aziraphale rushed from the shop so quickly he quite forgot his coat and hat. Crowley was leaning against the side of an expensive-looking car. Seconds later, Crowley had an angel in his arms, and an angel’s mouth pressed to his, kissing him as if his lips held all the mysteries of the cosmos. 

“Angel.”

Aziraphale felt more than heard the low murmur against his lips. Crowley’s long fingers were threaded in his hair, then playing down his spine and over his shoulders, as if the demon was hearing a beloved melody for the first time in ages and committing every note to memory afresh. For the first time since Mesopotamia, Aziraphale let his hands wander beyond their usual resting places of Crowley’s hair and face, sliding them under the demon’s suit jacket, feeling the lean, taut muscles of his belly and sides through his shirt. With a possessive growl that made Aziraphale wonder if anyone had ever been discorporated by sound alone, Crowley took hold of his wrists and held them firmly, gently breaking their kiss.

“Angel, d’ya realise you didn’t even hide us from prying eyes?”

Aziraphale laughed roughly, closing his eyes as Crowley leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

“Angel.”

He cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands, fingers pushing back the hair at his temples. 

“Remind me again why we have to stop.”

Aziraphale laughed a bit at that, and was rewarded by the rumble of Crowley’s answering chuckle.

“I’m sorry dear boy. I realise that was hardly conducive to the sort of self control I’ve been trying to espouse.”

Crowley nodded, fingers tangling a little more tightly in Aziraphale’s hair. He lowered his head a little, affording the angel a glimpse of his golden eyes. His gaze drifted from Aziraphale’s eyes down to his lips, and the angel hurriedly ploughed on, trying to distract himself from the nearly overwhelming urge to kiss Crowley like that again, with significantly less restraint.

“I have missed you so terribly my dear, my apologies. I shouldn’t have -”

His apology was brought to an abrupt stop by Crowley drawing one hand to his lips and delicately sucking one fingertip, tongue flickering serpent-like against it.

“Angel … surely we could find a way to hide ourselves, just for one night? It’s not as if they watch us every second of every day. Aren’t you … curious?”

Aziraphale reluctantly withdrew his finger, which had someone found its way back into Crowley’s mouth after he finished speaking.

“Ah, my dear.” He ran the pad of his thumb regretfully over Crowley’s lower lip. “While I am quite sure we could, it still wouldn’t be safe.”

“Why?”

Crowley nuzzled the tip of his nose gently, and the longing in his eyes made Aziraphale’s hand tremble slightly as he busied himself straightening Crowley’s tie and snake tie pin.

“Because, my dear, I am quite certain that were I to truly be with you, it would change every atom of my being. Crowley, I would be completely unable to stop myself pouring my energy – oh that’s not a euphemism, you wicked thing – into you until it it is quite impossible to tell where the boundaries are. Do you think Heaven wouldn’t notice something like that? It would put you at terrible risk, if upstairs were to notice their guardian of the Eastern gate suddenly had threads of your blazing energy running through him.”

Crowley was silent. Aziraphale looked up in panic, and found himself gazing into unshielded yellow eyes, and the owner of those eyes beaming at him.

“And you would want that?”

“Want what, dearest?”

“To pour yourself into me." Crowley said with a salacious grin.

“Honestly, Crowley!”

Aziraphale swatted his arm, but couldn’t help echoing Crowley's infectious laugh. 

“Of course I want that. I want all of you. So much that I want to know I can keep you safe when you’re finally mine.”

“Angel, I’m already yours. Anyway, look, a very fancy car. And the whole night ahead of us. Let’s go to a deserted beach somewhere and gaze sappily at each other in the moonlight. I’ll bring you home tomorrow and we can carry on as usual.”

“Darling?”

“Yes, Angel?”

“I’m already home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Home for the holidays
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: Never Let Me Go (Florence + The Machine)


	8. London, 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley took the cookie Aziraphale had picked up from his hand and placed it back on the tray, then cupped the angel’s face tenderly in his palm.
> 
> “I know we fell into this habit without discussing it. So let’s break it down logically. Do you only love me at Christmas?”
> 
> Aziraphale laughed, nuzzling Crowley’s palm softly.
> 
> “Of course not, you old silly.”

**London, 1941**

* * *

Crowley shook his head as he surveyed the ranks of cookies laid out on trays before him. Christmas trees, stars, snowmen and candy canes, all waiting to be iced, if the bowls of white, gold and silver icing were any clue. On the counter to his right stood a turkey stuffed and ready to be roasted, surrounded by a mountain of greens and root vegetables, and was that a bowl of cranberries? And a Christmas pudding? When Aziraphale had taken over his kitchen for the afternoon Crowley had expected a hive of activity, but this looked like he was trying to feed the armies of heaven.

“Aziraphale, neither of us has that big of an appetite!”

He was laughing in earnest now. He couldn’t help it. Ever since that night in the church, the angel had been trying to show his gratitude in so many little ways. Twice Crowley had come home to find an extra blanket (black, of course) on his bed with a note pointing out that it was an especially chilly night. Another evening he found a stack of astronomy books by his bed. On one memorable evening he found six beautiful lush plants, with a strict note telling him he’d better not mistreat them (the hall plants didn’t know about the rather pampered plants that now lived in his bedroom.)

Then on Christmas Eve he’d received a note, as formal as any he might have received a hundred years ago, requesting that Aziraphale might, at Crowley’s convenience, come and cook him Christmas dinner. 

He could have suggested coming over to do an interpretive dance with candy canes for all Crowley cared. He wanted only to see him. 

“I got carried away.”

Aziraphale’s tone was sharp, but his eyes were twinkling.

“Besides dear boy you were always the better cook out of the two of us. I thought I ought to make extra food in case something goes awry. I am most certainly more skilled at tasting food than at cooking it.”

“Angel.”

Crowley strolled over to the table, taking the bowl of icing from Aziraphale’s hands and placing it on the wooden surface, casually stepping close enough that they were almost chest to chest. Aziraphale smiled brightly and the unguarded love and happiness threatened to reduce Crowley to a puddle of stars and feathers on the floor.

“You don’t have to keep doing things for me, dear. You already said thank you for the books. You can stop.”

Aziraphale leaned forward and gently touched his forehead to Crowley’s for a moment, before busying himself with the icing. He didn’t say anything, but the love radiating from him was enough to power the city. Crowley understood suddenly. Aziraphale couldn’t fully express his love in all the ways he truly wanted to, so he was doing his best with the tools he had to hand. Crowley reached out to rest his hand over the angel’s, stopping him in the act of icing a cookie. Aziraphale smiled brighter, the moment warm and soft as honey before he resumed his usual tone.

“You can make yourself useful.”

“And here I thought you were cooking for me.”

Crowley teased, but he picked up an icing bag and started piping neat white swirls onto the cookies. They worked in companionable silence for a while, easily settling into a routine whereby Crowley did the white icing, then handed each cookie to the angel for some gold and silver flourishes. Crowley noticed the angel’s gaze wandering to Crowley’s hands more often than not, until he eventually got distracted enough that he smudged the icing design on the cookie he was working on. 

“Bit of a fetish for my hands there, eh angel?”

Aziraphale chuckled, but didn’t, Crowley noticed, deny it.

“Crowley … do you think we’re playing a dangerous game?”

“Yes. For many reasons. Which one did you mean?”

“This yearly tradition we’ve had going for a few decades now. Oh, please don’t misunderstand me.”

He looked up, his gaze clear and honest as the sky.

“I love it. It’s become something of a yearly respite from constantly repressing my feelings and desires around you. And the festive period is the ideal time to slip under the radar as it’s such a busy time for both sides – so long as I’m seen to do my allotted seasonal miracles, that seems to keep them happy enough.”

“But?”

The demon gently brushed icing sugar from Aziraphale’s lapel, and he caught his hand and squeezed it gently.

“But what it they were to find out, Crowley?”

"I don’t see how this is any different than the arrangement. We both know there are risks.”

“It is, different, though. This isn’t covering a temptation for you while I’m up in York doing a blessing. This is letting my guard down completely. What if they sense it? If you were to be hurt as a result ….”

“Angel.”

Crowley took the cookie Aziraphale had picked up from his hand and placed it back on the tray, then cupped the angel's face tenderly in his palm.

“I know we fell into this habit without discussing it. So let’s break it down logically. Do you only love me at Christmas?”

Aziraphale laughed, nuzzling Crowley’s palm softly.

“Of course not, you old silly.”

“Do you mystically guard your feelings for me the rest of the year? Are they only in danger of being seen at our annual festive soiree?”

“Well …. no. It’s more that by allowing myself this one outlet, I can prevent myself from radiating so much love for you that I might as well embroider 'I love Crowley' on the back of my coat."

Crowley’s attempt to hide his smile against the angel’s shoulder was utterly futile, though he kept his face pressed there as he spoke.

“I would hate for you to deface a perfectly good coat, especially one you've kept so neat for a hundred years at least. Angel, it sounds to me like this helps more than it hinders. Like a pressure valve. ‘S how it is for me, anyway. Easier to act halfway normal around you when I know I can be honest occasionally. This way is more controlled, which makes it safer.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, but as Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel’s waist he felt his body relax by tiny increments.

“Besides,” he confessed against his powder-soft hair “I like to see it as an advent of our own. Counting down till the time we can find a way to be together.”

“Sappy.”

Aziraphale teased, but he was smiling so much that those adorable little crinkles were forming around his eyes. He started humming a cheery festive tune under his breath as he handed Crowley the next tray of cookies to be iced, and busied himself with putting the turkey in the oven. Outside, the faint sound of carollers drifted up to the windows, and for once Crowley felt so magnanimous that he didn’t so much as encourage a single roofing slate to release its glut of snow onto their unsuspecting heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Baking  
> Song I had on repeat: Miracle (Shinedown)


	9. New York, 1957

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly the angel understood. Crowley was letting him in to his internal world, into something that he did to relax. He was letting the angel see him totally at ease and unguarded, and sharing a soft, emotional part of himself that he would usually deny having, loudly and at length. The realisation hit Aziraphale like a sudden gale, knocking him off balance.
> 
> “Oh, Crowley.”
> 
> He whispered, squeezing the demon’s hand tighter.

**New York, 1957**

* * *

The night was bitterly cold, but all told rather enchanting. The city lights illuminated the drifting snowflakes, and the air was alive with frenetic energy. Aziraphale checked the piece of paper in his hand. The Paris theatre was close by, Crowley had said. He had to hand it to the demon – the suite he’d booked for him in the Plaza was elegance itself, and the hotel was gorgeous. It was hard not to be impressed by the plush, elegant lobby, with its glimmering chandeliers letting their soft light mingle with the glow of the towering Christmas tree.

It was a busy night. Cars purred by, all curved bonnets and round headlights, causing slush to spray up from the muddy, snowy streets. It was early enough that restaurants and bars were still open, Aziraphale's ears assualted by a mishmash of music from jazz to the new-fangled rock and roll that Crowley so liked.

The letter he’d received last month had been simplicity itself: “New York at Christmas, Angel?” and tucked in the envelope were details of the hotel and a note to meet him at The Paris movie theatre on Christmas Eve. As he pulled his favourite camel coat tighter around himself against the cold, he thought not for the first time that this was, undeniably, a date. Aziraphale looked up at the sky. The snow was coming faster and faster now, turning the serene dark sky into a flurry of movement. It made him feel safe, hidden.

It was a wonderful feeling.

The Paris was deserted. Of course it was. The lights were blazing and Aziraphale knew without stepping a foot inside that a movie of Crowley’s choosing would play as if of its own accord with one snap of the demon’s fingers. Doubtless there would be soft drinks and popcorn on tap as if the full staff was present behind the counter. And yet they would be the only two there.

They’d been to plenty of theatres and concert halls together, though Aziraphale had resisted the silver screen, preferring plays and music. But this intimacy was entirely new. A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the wintry weather.

“Angel.”

Crowley greeted him, leaning oh-so-causally against the ticket counter. Ever the lover of new trends, he was wearing black jeans, a simple black t shirt, and a fashionable leather jacket bedecked with zips. Aziraphale put out his hand as if to shake, and Crowley laughed and pulled him into a tight hug. Aziraphale pressed his hands somewhat gingerly to the smooth, supple material of Crowley’s jacket, letting himself sink against the demon for a moment, breathing in the firework scent of him.

“What’s all this about then, dear boy?”

Crowley shrugged one shoulder.

“Missed you the last few years, Angel. I hate it when we can’t see each other in winter. Figured you wouldn’t want to sit around the hotel all night, but I still wanted you all to myself, so. Anyway, you’re always dragging me to boring plays and trying to *read* to me. S’only fair.”

He offered his arm, and Aziraphale took it, letting Crowley lead him down the corridor and into a chic auditorium with blue velvet walls. Crowley picked out two seats in the middle of the venue that he insisted would have the best sound and view, and casually draped himself in one of them, his legs dangling over the seat in front. No sooner had Aziraphale sat down than he found himself holding a bucket of delicious-smelling buttery popcorn in one hand and a delicate china cup in the other. Startled, he looked at the cup, a short laugh escaping him.

“Earl Grey.”

Crowley explained. 

“I knew you’d never swap your beloved tea for a soft drink.”

“Oh …. thank you.”

Flustered, and deeply touched, Aziraphale sipped the tea carefully and enquired as to what they were watching. It was, according to Crowley, a film noir by the name of Sunset Boulevard. Crowley talked enthusiastically about its elegant leading lady, Gloria Swanson, and the way the plot of the film – that of a once adored silent movie star who had fallen out of favour – mirrored her own life. It was rare to see him so talkative, and Aziraphale loved it. He wanted to ask him what was different, but he was a little afraid of shattering the pure magic of seeing Crowley relaxed. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to slip his hand into the demon’s, lacing their fingers. When Crowley reached over to help himself to popcorn, Aziraphale thought for a second that his love might cause him to split into countless pieces, for his form felt too small to contain it.

The warmth of Crowley’s hand, the feel of those familiar fingers, kept his attention much more than Ms. Swanson’s admittedly stunning performance. It was so comfortable there in the dark, in their own little world, that he was disappointed when the credits rolled.

“Don’t worry, Angel, it’s a double bill.”

Crowley grinned, as if anticipating his feelings.

The second film, Miracle on 34th Street was a million miles from what Aziraphale would have expected Crowley to watch. As the sweet, gentle festive story unfolded, he kept stealing glances at Crowley, who looked genuinely engrossed. They passed most of the film in that way – Crowley watching it, and Aziraphale gazing at his lovely, sharp profile in the flickering light of the screen. Somewhere around the time Kris Kringle spoke to a little Dutch girl in her native language, he’d discarded his glasses so that Aziraphale could see his striking eyes like sparks in the dimness. 

Suddenly the angel understood. Crowley was letting him in to his internal world, into something that he did to relax. He was letting the angel see him totally at ease and unguarded, and sharing a soft, emotional part of himself that he would usually deny having, loudly and at length. The realisation hit Aziraphale like a sudden gale, knocking him off balance.

“Oh, Crowley.”

He whispered, squeezing the demon’s hand tighter.

“I love you.”

The answering pressure made his heart beat as if it was trying to run faster towards Crowley.

“Can’t blame you.”

The demon said, but the answering love radiating from him felt like sunlight. He turned to Aziraphale, reaching out to trace the line of his cheekbone. 

“Angel, can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale nodded, afraid to speak lest the tears slowly leaking from his eyes turn into ragged sobs. Crowley brushed them away with the pad of his thumb, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Ignore me dear boy. One rather wishes we could stay forever here, that’s all. And yes, yes you may kiss me.”

Crowley’s beautiful face looked caught between smiling and crying too as he leaned over and slowly, delicately traced his lips over Aziraphale’s, as if he could know the shape of his soul that way. Aziraphale drew back in surprise at the sound of fingers snapping beside his ear. Crowley murmured his name as he pulled him back in until their lips were touching again, then whispered against him “I can’t give us forever yet angel, but I can stop time for a few minutes.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes then, letting himself sink into Crowley’s red wine and woodsmoke taste, the vibrant red hair so soft under his hands, and the way the demon’s fingers mapped a path along his neck before settling with one warm palm cupping the back of his neck, the fingers of the other hand weaving into his hair.

There was no beginning, no before, no after. Minutes were but memories and hours had ceased to breathe. Outside the snow was suspended in the sky and the music from the bars was frozen between notes, while in the safety of the theatre an angel and a demon occupied their own tiny eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cheesy movies  
> Song(s) I had on repeat while writing this: Because The Night (Patti Smith Group), and Halo (Florence + The Machine cover)


	10. Glasgow, 1966

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “m’ so relaxed, Angel. Quite forgot myself. Hanging stockings on the mantelpiece, you know? Trimming the tree. Giving sweets and coins to carol singers. Walking hand in hand in the snow and warming up with cocoa by the fireplace. All the silly traditions that both sides hate and we’ll take extra glee in loving them because of that, because earth is our place and we’ve grown to love this time of year. Waking up next to you Christmas morning.”
> 
> Aziraphale’s fingers froze, tucked into Crowley’s secondary feathers, but not moving. Oh shitshitshit.
> 
> “Not that we have to … you don’t even sleep. I would be sleeping. But it doesn’t have to be with you. I’ll sleep at home. Come to the bookshop at 9:00 prompt. If you’ve still got the bookshop by then. Course you’ll still have the bookshop by then. Anyway.”

Glasgow, 1968

* * *

“Do you ever think about it?”

Crowley leaned his head back against the seat to look up at Aziraphale. The angel was sitting on the cosy plaid sofa in their rented (for one night) Glasgow town house, with Crowley positioned comfortably on the floor as Aziraphale stroked his hair. Aziraphale had been sent to the Scottish city to perform some minor miracles. Being that Glasgow was one of his creations, hell saw nothing strange in Crowley visiting it. He’d spent a miserable few days in the slums, where so many families struggled to get through the day even while the modern world marched on around them, doing his level best to undo some of his own damage.

Aziraphale had helped him.

And now they were back at the Edwardian West end townhouse the angel had rented for them, and Crowley was glad of the quiet location and simple, uncluttered décor, welcoming but not stifling. Neither of them had been in the humour to go out to eat, and so Crowley had cooked them a traditional festive meal of turkey with all the trimmings. Aziraphale had insisted on making a sherry trifle, which Crowley had sworn hand to Satan he would hate, but had somehow managed three helpings of.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Angel.”

“The future.”

Crowley turned towards the sofa, one arm coming to rest over Aziraphale’s knee as he looked up at him. 

“Not much of it to be had if Her plans come to pass.”

“But if it … if it doesn’t happen, somehow, or … if we. If we can ever be together. Do you ever … think about it?”

Crowley turned his back again, picking up the tumbler of very good Scottish whisky and drinking down a good wee dram. There was a fire in the grate. The owner of the house had put up a sturdy tree, festooned with baubles and paper chains. Outside, he could see snow falling steadily as theatre-goers and epicures explored the glittering bohemian district that seemed a universe away from their painful day’s work.

Aziraphale tangled his fingers in his hair again, giving a playful tug when Crowley didn’t answer (which made it even more difficult to arrange words into something intelligible.)

“All the time, Angel.”

He took another sip of whisky, letting his breath out in a long exhale. The fire was warm, and the food had been good, and despite the horrors of the day Crowley felt himself relaxing. This was it. The moment he’d looked forward to all year, alone with Aziraphale and free to express everything he felt. Quite without meaning to, he let his wings fall open at his sides. He heard Aziraphale give a soft gasp – it almost sounded like wonder – and then he was gently stroking Crowley’s wings.

“What do you think of, then?”

Crowley leaned his head back against Aziraphale’s knee and smiled to himself, every brush of the angel’s hands against his wings relaxing him even more.

  
“What the winter will be like, when we’re not hiding. When I can see you and touch you any time I want to.”

Clever fingers combed through his already-neat feathers, smoothing and holding them as if they were precious carvings from the rarest obsidian. 

“And what will it be like?”

“Beautiful. Christmas is your time – our time – and I’ll always remember you at this time of year. Even when you’re right there with me. I’ll look back at all these moments and realise they were but so many pearls strung together, the loveliest thing in all my long life.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but his fingers tightened in Crowley’s feathers before he resumed stroking and grooming them softly. Crowley closed his eyes with a long sigh, letting himself drift into the soft sensations. Every touch against his wings felt like a benediction, and Crowley let himself consider for a second that Aziraphale’s divine energy soothed rather than burned him. Let himself taste the idea that he liked being blessed by this particular angel, swallow it down like the finest wine.

“Stockings.”

He said, not meaning to say it out loud, but too relaxed to stop himself.

“Beg pardon?”

Crowley laughed.

“m’ so relaxed, Angel. Quite forgot myself. Hanging stockings on the mantelpiece, you know? Trimming the tree. Giving sweets and coins to carol singers. Walking hand in hand in the snow and warming up with cocoa by the fireplace. All the silly traditions that both sides hate and we’ll take extra glee in loving them because of that, because earth is our place and we’ve grown to love this time of year. Waking up next to you Christmas morning.”

Aziraphale’s fingers froze, tucked into Crowley’s secondary feathers, but not moving. Oh shitshitshit.

“Not that we have to … you don’t even sleep. I would be sleeping. But it doesn’t have to be with you. I’ll sleep at home. Come to the bookshop at 9:00 prompt. If you’ve still got the bookshop by then. Course you’ll still have the bookshop by then. Anyway.”

Oh, Satan, was the silence going for a world record? It was the longest silence anyone had ever lived through. Aziraphale finally broke it with one word – Crowley’s name – in a tone so layered with emotion that Crowley didn’t know how to start unpicking it. So he took his usual route in such situations and kept talking.

“It’s just the thing you said. In 1937 when we kissed against the Bentely. About flowing into me. I know you didn’t mean it like *that*, but you didn’t seem to mind that I did, and that time in Vermont when you said ...”

The brush of Aziraphale’s fingers over the pulse in his neck stole Crowley’s words, replacing them with a sharp gasp.

“Darling boy.”

The angel’s breath was warm against his ear, and Crowley thought he might just close his eyes and live forever inside that dear, familiar voice.

“If you’d quit at ‘waking up beside me’ you could have explained it away as you chastely dozing off in the apartment above my shop after Christmas Eve drinks. However, I rather fear your second soliloquy made it very clear that you imagine us having sex first.”

Crowley made a sound that was neither human nor hellish, quite certain the fire in his chest was about to consume him. 

“Crowley.”

All the teasing was gone from Aziraphale’s voice now, replaced by something richer and darker, heavy with promise. 

“Darling, I meant what I said that night outside my shop. I want to be with you until every atom of my energy flows into and through yours. Until we’re nothing but a single constellation of stars. I’ve wanted that since the first time we kissed. I’ve wanted to be close to you even longer – that night is simply when I realised there were more ways to want you than I’d counted.”

Crowley tried to speak but all he could do was turn to Aziraphale, just as the angel slid down to sit on the floor beside him and kiss him soundly. He leaned closer and wrapped his arm around the angel’s waist, their thighs brushing, chests close enough to feel each other’s uneven breathing.

“My love.” Aziraphale whispered, breathing words against him between slow kisses. “When I think of the future, I imagine whole Christmas Eves, whole winters, in bed with you. I imagine finally being free, knowing you’re safe, knowing that no harm can come to us no matter how much love and desire floods my veins.”

Crowley was certain he’d known English once, but blessed if he could make useful words out of it now. Aziraphale traced his fingers carefully over Crowley’s temple, the sharp slash of his cheekbone, the angles of his jaw. His fingers paused to re-acquaint themselves with Crowley’s mouth, then traced star maps down his neck to his collar.

“One day, I want to map out your entire body like this. I want to write epics across your skin until you feel as loved as you deserve to. I want to be free to worship you as you ought to be.”

“Steady on, Angel. Not sure you should be worshipping demons.”

The angel laughed at that, trailing into a deep sigh. Crowley leaned forward to steal the sigh for himself in a gentle, reverent kiss, stroking Aziraphale’s hair back and smiling against him.

“I already feel it.”

“Hm?”

“Loved, Angel. I already feel loved.”

Ah, there was that smile that made even Crowley’s favourite stars hang their heads in shame. Content, the warmth of Aziraphale’s love surrounding him, Crowley cuddled up to the angel and let himself mould against him like a stone so oft washed by the sea it forms a smooth hollow to welcome the water. If Aziraphale was surprised at such open, guileless affection, he had the good grace not to say so. Instead, he pulled a blanket down from the sofa and tucked it around them both, letting them snuggle close to one another in a moment of perfect peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Making a list  
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: Fairytale (Omnia)
> 
> Excuse me, muse, I swore I'd never write smut and certainly not post it publicly. And I haven't. But I wonder where this is going!


	11. Sussex, 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dance with me, Angel.”
> 
> Even without that blessedly warm and clever voice, Aziraphale would have recognized the elegant hand immediately. He took it before he even turned to fully face its owner, his lips falling open on a surprised gasp.
> 
> “Don’t question it.” Crowley whispered, much closer to his ear than strictly necessary. “Just do me this honour.”
> 
> Even if Aziraphale knew what to say, the sight of Crowley in a tightly-fitted black silk frock coat that flared over his narrow hips, black breeches, and a black waistcoat adorned with subtle gold flames, would have been enough to silence him. The ensemble was finished by knee-high black boots with buckles, a black ruffled shirt of material so fine it clung to the planes of Crowley’s chest, and a black mask in the same style as Aziraphale’s, adorned with fire-bright rubies and black onyx and finished with black and red plumes.

**Sussex, 1987**

* * *

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

What was he thinking? Aziraphale fiddled with the tiny pearl buttons on his waistcoat, tugging it straighter, still thoroughly annoyed with himself some twenty years later.

The year before he'd handed over the holy water they’d spent a cosy evening in Glasgow’s west end. They’d kissed (oh, those kisses) and held each other, and Aziraphale had made very plain what his desires and intentions were, where Crowley was concerned. Sitting before the fire with the demon, feeling the trusting way he’d curled into Aziraphale, had decided him. He understood at last that Crowley wasn’t trying to escape. He was trying to arm himself, because he’d rather keep seeing Aziraphale even knowing the potential danger, than not. 

It should, by all rights have been a beautiful moment. A fitting conclusion to years of trust slowly blossoming between them. Instead, Aziraphale had found himself shaken by the depth of Crowley’s emotion, the quiet dignity in his voice, and had defaulted to a pattern he thought he’d left behind years ago. 

They hadn’t spent a Christmas together since. He’d suggested meeting in Rome in 1973, but Crowley had evaded the question. He’d suggested a get-together at the Sydney Opera House in 1981 but Crowley had mumbled something about needing to go to Cornwall for a festive temptation. The arrangement had all but fizzled out.

Aziraphale tried to tell himself twenty years was nothing. They’d gone much longer without speaking before. And it wasn’t as if they’d completely ignored each other. They’d spoken, briefly. Even went out for a short and uncomfortable coffee at the British Museum Cafe. But something felt broken between them, and Aziraphale was fairly certain he was the one who’d shattered it.

The last thing he wanted to do on this particular night (the 23rd of December, as it happened), was attend a masked ball. Aziraphale couldn’t think of a circumstance in which he’d want to attend a masked ball. Unfortunately there was little choice – Heaven had been on a conversion kick lately, trying to turn more people to the light, as it were. They’d insisted Aziraphale attend a few social gatherings to foment goodness and encourage party goers to turn to a path of righteousness. Aziraphale strongly suspected that like most of Heaven’s trends it would burn out in a couple of years and he’d never have to think about it again. Sometimes it was easier to just turn up for a couple of hours, spread some angelic energy, and leave. You had to choose your battles.

Still, he had to confess the chance to get dressed up was rather lovely. He’d opted for a cream velvet frock coat with an ornate gold waistcoat adorned with glittering stars, atop a delicate cream silk shirt with a cascade of moonlight lace at the throat and cuffs. His mask was a Colombina type, covering his eyes and part of his nose, but not hiding the lower part of his face. It was a work of art, made by a local artisan, cream with golden topaz and plumes of white and gold feathers. Beautiful cream shoes with gold buckles completed the outfit.

Aziraphale tried not to think too hard about how much more fun it would be to go with Crowley. They’d make a beeline for the free drinks, then walk about the room while Crowley dripped sardonic comments in his ear, which Aziraphale would pretend to disapprove of, even as he fought to suppress a smile.

The Edwardian mansion in the Sussex countryside was certainly a sight to behold. Sleek cars that cost more than many people earned in a year lined the driveway. The sweeping staircase up to the front door was decorated with so many gleaming candle lanterns, while the white and gold marble foyer appeared to have got lost and wandered into the wrong century. Everything dripped wealth, from the priceless vases to the huge ancestral portraits that watched over the proceedings. Aziraphale accepted a flute of champagne and walked reluctantly into the main hall. A string quartet were busy putting Vivaldi’s Four Seasons through their paces. Aziraphale tried to concentrate on his job, but his mind was preoccupied. Focus, he told himself. He busied himself at one of the drinks tables, pouring another glass of champagne and wondering wretchedly how long he had to spend before he could reasonably call the night a success and go home. Christmas without Crowley only meant one thing: Copious amounts of wine and a stack of Austen and Bronte to keep his mind halfway occupied until the new year limped in.

“Dance with me, Angel.”

Even without that blessedly warm and clever voice, Aziraphale would have recognized the elegant hand immediately. He took it before he even turned to fully face its owner, his lips falling open on a surprised gasp.

“Don’t question it.” Crowley whispered, much closer to his ear than strictly necessary. “Just do me this honour.”

Even if Aziraphale knew what to say, the sight of Crowley in a tightly-fitted black silk frock coat that flared over his narrow hips, black breeches, and a black waistcoat adorned with subtle gold flames, would have been enough to silence him. The ensemble was finished by knee-high black boots with buckles, a black ruffled shirt of material so fine it clung to the planes of Crowley’s chest, and a black mask in the same style as Aziraphale’s, adorned with fire-bright rubies and black onyx and finished with black and red plumes.

The string quartet had been joined by a small choir and were performing something dramatic and elegant that added to the atmosphere created by the hundreds of candles around the edges of the room, and the pageant of stunning costumes on display. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he’d stepped back in time to 1700s Vienna, or been transported into a fairytale. And as Crowley led him to the dance floor and pulled him close, one hand on his waist so the demon could lead, he found he didn’t care. 

Crowley tugged him closer, as if he were a sculptor seeking to make of their bodies the perfect work of art. He was an artful leader, each movement bold and crisp, and smoother than honey. He leaned down to brush his lips against Aziraphale’s ear.

“I love you. Never forget it.”

Aziraphale shivered, and would have answered immediately but for Crowley carefully spinning him out before drawing him back again.

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” He asked as soon as the demon pulled him close. "Crowley, I am so, so sorry for what I said. How can I mend it when you won’t talk to me?”

“Things are getting more complex, Angel.”

He slid his hand further around Aziraphale’s waist and gave him an elegant spin. Aziraphale gazed, breathless, noticing for the first time that Crowley’s eyes were unguarded behind the mask. It hid his identity enough that he could simply let his eyes be part of the costume. Aziraphale felt his throat closing against tears. Crowley had let his hair grow long for the occasion, the long garnet strands pooling in waves over his narrow shoulders.

“The more technology develops, the easier it is for Hell to spy on me. They’re much more tech savvy than your lot.”

_(They stepped apart and back together, close enough for Crowley’s chest to brush against his.)_

“I apologise for turning down your lovely invitations. But I was afraid.”

_(Another turn, so that for a moment the world became a slow blur of multitudinous candle flames, framing Crowley.)_

“Forgive me. You’re the only one I would ever want or even tolerate forgiveness from.”

_(Crowley’s hand on his hip, pushing him back as Crowley stepped forward, so they moved in unison.)_

“I’m not angry, dear boy. I was afraid I’d driven you away.”  
  
_(A step forward as Crowley stepped backwards, their feet moving in time.)_

“Never. We need to be more careful than ever, though.”

“But what I said ….”

_(They turned together then, a perfect circle that left him feeling that Crowley was the axis on which everything turned.)_

“You think a moment of stress would matter more to me than the things you’ve said to me every winter? C’mon, Aziraphale.”

_(His name, rarely spoken, and all the sweeter for it, tracing shivers over his body as Crowley gently dipped him back, lips whispering against the angel’s throat, nearly kissing there as he spoke.)_

“I had to come tonight. I had to see you again, if only for a moment.”

_(Crowley pulling him upright again, his hand pressed flat to the angel’s waist, other hand palm to palm with his, fingers laced.)_

“Crowley … why so long?”

_(Clever, precise steps that somehow led to their hips pressing closer, the awareness of Crowley’s thigh positioned between his own, igniting a flush that warmed his whole body and ended at his heart. A voice breathed against his ear.)_

“Simply how long I needed to be certain I could be around you and not cast my entire self at your feet like a sacrifice, Angel. Like you once said. Someone would notice that.”

 _(Back where they’d begun, Crowley’s arm around his waist, pulling him more tightly against him now so it seemed their bodies were moulded together, moving as one to the music_.)

“Stay with me tonight.”

“Oh, Angel. You know I can’t do that.”

_(And now the tempo changed, the choir starting something slower and richer overtop of the swelling strings, perfectly suited to the pulse of Crowley’s body against his own. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had affected the change, but was too caught up in the brilliance of his yellow eyes, the way the mask highlighted the perfect twist of his mouth, to care.)_

_“_ But just know that saying no to you takes more resistance to temptation than a demon has any right to have.”

_(How was it possible to feel the music in every pulse of his heart? It was inside and outside of him, singing on his skin, pulling them both into a perfect give and take.)_

“I should never have put you in a position to need to do so.”

_(His hand, reaching up to cup Crowley’s cheek, apology spoken as much in his wide blue eyes as in the words on his lips. And Crowley, turning to kiss his palm, hand coming up to hold Aziraphale’s there, as if afraid to be bereft of it too soon.)_

“Don’t regret it, Angel. I know I don’t. Being wanted by you is the best thing in my whole damned life.”

_(Rapid kisses to his palm and fingers between words, the hint of a forked tongue brushing the pulse inside his wrist.)_

“I’m going to leave, when the song ends. I … I need a little longer. We’re so close, Angel, so close, my heart doesn’t know if it’s mine or yours any more. What you did for me … I haven’t figured out how to be around you and still do my job convincingly after that.”

Aziraphale bit back a plea to not go, never go. Instead he let a little angelic power wrap itself around musicians and clocks both, ensuring their one dance would last far longer than it properly ought. Crowley grinned, a wicked look in his eyes.

“Pretty sure that’s cheating.”

“Pretty sure I don’t care.”

Aziraphale leaned up and kissed him slowly, hands exploring his long, beautiful hair.

“Don’t stay away too much longer. We’ll figure it out, Crowley. We’ve stayed safe this long.”

He felt the demon smile against him, long fingers sliding down his spine and, for the merest hint of a second, ghosting against his hip.

“I’ll be back again before you know it. If only to dance with you again. Could get used to this.”

Aziraphale smiled and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck, letting the frenetic energy between them still to something gentle, soothing, encouraging the fire to give way to a gentle flow of love and tenderness.

“And I’ll be waiting.”

Crowley smiled back, the sudden joy reaching his eyes. 

“Till next time, Angel.”

“The dance isn’t over yet.”

He took a step closer, moving them together to the slower, easier rhythm of the music, and if the song went on for an hour or two longer than it ought to have, well, who was keeping time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Holiday parties  
> Song(s) I had on repeat while writing this: When Doves Cry (Quindon Tarver), Fleurs Du Mal (Sarah Brightman).
> 
> Damn and bless it I swore this series would be all PG-13 but I changed it to Mature after this chapter, I mean ... they're only dancing. But with so much promise of more I decided to err on the side of caution!


	12. Sussex, 1987, two hours later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley’s heart was thudding against his ribs like it was desperate to escape, go somewhere that it didn’t have to feel a hundred emotions every minute. Aziraphale was looking at him like he was both the pain and the cure, the wound and the balm. Crowley knew his yellow irises had won their ongoing battle with the whites of his eyes, and thought for a wild moment how feral and strange he must look with his eyes unshielded and his hair long and loose as if it were the old days. Aziraphale took a deep, shaky breath, warm hands seizing Crowley’s face, his eyes blazing the vivid blue of the hottest supergiant star. Divine energy flowed from him quickly enough that Crowley heard it snap in the air, and thought through his haze that anyone who underestimated the angel of the Eastern gate was a blessed fool.
> 
> “I’m going to kiss you now.”
> 
> It was a demand and a plea all at once.
> 
> “Well you’d better.”
> 
> (It gets vaguely NSFW, but really it's just kissing. Very intense kissing.)

Crowley had been sitting in the Bentley for two hours. The snow was falling thicker than ever now, and frost was slowly winding delicate tendrils across the windscreen. He hadn’t miracled it away. The Bentley was normally weather proof, but Crowley was more distracted than he’d ever been in his life. 

Which was saying a lot.

Every time he reached for the door handle, he stopped and drew back with a barely audible hiss. This was either one of his best or one of his worst ideas, and he didn’t know how to tell anymore which was which.

“Just go up there.”

He muttered to himself.

“Not like he’ll be disappointed to see you.”

After all, he was the one who asked Crowley to stay with him.

He squinted up at the snow, falling so fast out of the night sky that the hotel grounds looked like an abstract painting of bright lamplit flakes scattered across the black firmament. Well, it wasn’t going to slow down, and it was blessedly cold shivering here in a Bentley that didn’t even have a touch of infernal heat, thanks to its sole occupant driving himself out of his mind with worry.

Seconds later Crowley was in the foyer. The antique carved wood and rose coloured marble screamed luxury. It hadn’t been hard to find Aziraphale. Crowley knew the angel well enough by now to know that whenever he had to travel for work, he liked to find a comfortable place to stay for the night, rather than start travelling back immediately. A quick click of his fingers and the night clerk didn’t even notice Crowley, still in his masquerade costume though without the mask (and didn’t that seem symbolic), striding past him and taking the stairs two at a time.

His knuckles barely grazed the door before Aziraphale flung it open.

“What are you doing here?”

The words might have stung, were they not accompanied by Aziraphale more or less hauling him into the room by his lapels, slamming the door shut and pinning Crowley to it. 

“How dare you?”

He half-hissed. Crowley was impressed.

“How dare you be so perfect and right and *here*? We are an angel and a demon, for the love of all that's holy. I was created to draw all my energy and purpose from Her divine light, so why are you the only thing I want in all creation?”

“Well how should I know! I’m supposed to be allergic to all things divine, yet every time you bless me – and I know you do Angel don’t deny it – it feels like you’re burning away all the damned parts of me and uncovering something new. Or maybe something old, blessed if I know.”

“This isn’t supposed to be!”

“This is the only thing that’s supposed to be!”

“Do you have the first concept how hard it was to watch you walk away tonight?”

“I don’t know Angel, do you have the first concept how hard it was to come here?”

“You’re the one who said you couldn’t stay!”

“Oh don’t you do that! We both know perfectly well what you meant, and we both know we can’t risk it. You’ve made that perfectly clear, multiple times. How could you ask me to stay with you tonight! You must know how unfair that was!”

“And yet somehow you’re here!”

Crowley’s heart was thudding against his ribs like it was desperate to escape, go somewhere it didn’t have to feel a hundred emotions all at once. Aziraphale was looking at him like he was both the pain and the cure, the wound and the balm. Crowley knew his yellow irises had won their ongoing battle with the whites of his eyes, and thought for a wild moment how feral and strange he must look with his eyes unshielded and his hair long and loose as if it were the old days. Aziraphale took a deep, shaky breath, warm hands seizing Crowley’s face, his eyes blazing the vivid blue of the hottest super-giant star. Divine energy flowed from him quickly enough that Crowley heard it snap in the air, and thought through his haze that anyone who underestimated the angel of the Eastern gate was a blessed fool.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

It was a demand and a plea all at once.

“Well you’d better.”

Crowley just about had time to gasp out, and then Aziraphale was in his arms and Crowley was gripping the back of the angel's shirt and trying to remember how to stay in one place and not discorporate as he kissed him with a heat and longing that even Crowley's wildest fantasies hadn’t been able to conjure up. 

“I can’t….”

He said hoarsely against Crowley’s mouth, then took a shuddering breath that Crowley felt resonate through his own chest, and tried again.

“Can’t do this for long. Hiding us at the same time as keeping the barriers between us intact.”

“Better shut up and get on with it then.”

Aziraphale laughed at that, but then a second snap of divine energy set the air around them crackling and Crowley knew he’d been gifted a few moments such as he’d barely let himself dream of. With a low growl, he pulled Aziraphale flush against him, hands digging in the angel’s shoulder blades, mapping out the place where his wings hovered unseen, and kissed him like preventing Armageddon hinged on how hard and relentless their mouths met. His restless hands couldn’t tarry there, though, knowing they had but moments to worship the way they’d longed to. Six thousand years of yearning tried to pour themselves into mere minutes as Crowley’s hands glided down Aziraphale’s back, learned the shape of his hips and waist, long fingers splayed across his broad chest in reverence.

If Crowley was a tender benediction, Aziraphale was an ancient ritual of blood and fire. His hands, usually so restrained, dragged across Crowley’s chest and down his sides, grazing his hips, squeezing his thighs hard enough that Crowley was quite sure he’d have bruises the next day. There was a shock of cold air as he tore Crowley’s shirt open, nails scratching his chest hard enough to leave trails of red against the pale, reminding the demon that angels were made as much for war as for love. He bent his head and sank his teeth into Crowley’s shoulder as if he could brand his love into his skin. He was the tempest and Crowley was the ship that could only surrender and trust the storm to put it down safe and whole after. Broad hands grabbed slender wrists and pinned them to the door, teeth claiming flesh again until a strangled cry of longing – and after neither was entirely sure whose it was – split the air between them.

Crowley felt the second Aziraphale could no longer keep them hidden, his divine power rushing back into his corporation with a sound like huge white wings folding in, leaving him panting against Crowley, head pressed to his shoulder. Crowley, not trusting himself to speak and quite unsure whether he was on the verge of hysterical laughter or hysterical tears, stroked the angel’s hair with trembling fingers.

“I .. I need a moment, dear boy, do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

Aziraphale sat down on the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands for a long moment. Crowley stayed leaning against the door, quite sure that if he tried to walk he would slide to the floor in a terribly un-fetching fashion. After several minutes Aziraphale took a shuddering breath, running his fingers through his hair and, Crowley noticed with a pang, surreptitiously wiping tears from his eyes.

“Well.”

He smiled gently at the demon. 

“I’m not entirely sure if I ought to apologise, thank you, ask you politely why you’re here, or tell you I love you.”

“Decisions, decisions.”

Crowley chanced the few steps to the bed and sat down close enough that their upper arms brushed, lacing their fingers together.

“Well, let me try, Angel. Nothing to be sorry for, not sure why you’re thanking me when you just gave me more than I ever dared dream I could have, I’m here because I couldn’t bear to be apart from you quite yet, and I love you too.”

“Answer for everything as usual.”

He leaned his forehead against Crowley’s with a soft chuckle, and a look that made him feel warm to the tips of his fingers.

“I’m sorry about your shirt, dear.”

“My shirt? What about my skin?! If that’s what you can do in six minutes, imagine what you could do if we had all night ...”

Aziraphale laughed properly then, eyes twinkling as he quickly miracled Crowley’s shirt back together, and stroked his face.

“Do you have to go yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Five more hot dates lined up. Of course I don’t have to go yet. C’mon. I know you don’t sleep, but at least let me hold you while I do.”

The world was surely turned inside out, Crowley mused some hours later as he lay behind a soundly sleeping angel, gazing into the crackling fire and treasuring every slow, measured rise and fall of Aziraphale’s back against his chest as he slept. His ever-chattering brain was clamouring to know if they should at least be talking about what had just passed between them, but his heart knew better. Every question and every answer was already contained in the intimacy of being allowed to hold his angel close while he slept for the first time since he’d walked in Eden. He already knew how Aziraphale felt, of course. But there was knowing, and then there was having the truth writ across his skin in fire and carved into the lines of his body, which still trembled with the memory. Suddenly Crowley knew the truth. It didn’t matter what Heaven or Hell thought of him. He’d found the only grace he would ever need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fireplace  
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: Life In An Instant (Abney Park)
> 
> Holy ... something. I've never written anything like this before and I'm mildly terrified to post it on the public internet, but the story is what it is and I'm just the messenger!


	13. Wales, 1989

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tried to smile, but couldn’t raise even the ghost of a grin.
> 
> “Look, it was my own silly fault. You know how vulnerable I am in the moment straight after winching in my wings, I should have just stayed hidden until they’d settled. But there was no one around so I set off down the road ...”
> 
> “Hastur?”
> 
> “I think so. It was terribly dark, and it was over rather quickly. A quick blow is one thing, but he likely didn’t want a full fight.”
> 
> Crowley looked sick, his throat working as he swallowed. Seeing the sadness in his eyes hurt far more than what Hastur had done.
> 
> “Angel, please show me?”
> 
> “I … it’s. It’s nothing. A glancing blow. It’ll be alright as soon as I can muster up the energy to heal it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one's so sad! If you don't want angst in the middle of all the festive romance, the story will make just as much sense if you skip this chapter.
> 
> There's nothing graphic in it, but there is an injured Aziraphale and a very worried Crowley.

**Somewhere In The Welsh Countryside, 1989**

* * *

The cabin seemed to be constructed mostly of drafts and gaps between the logs. Aziraphale shivered and pulled the threadbare blanket more closely around himself. There were things he could do. A minor miracle … Heaven would never notice him insulating a cabin and producing a seriously better calibre of blanket.

But his back burned like hellfire and he hadn’t the strength to try.

At least the miracle had gone well enough.The community hub in the tiny Welsh village had raised far more than expected at its fundraiser.

Aziraphale felt faint around the edges, like a muddied feather pulled and torn by a heedless wind. He supposed that was to be expected. Perhaps he would just lie down and sleep for a while. He’d only done it once before, two years ago, but Crowley swore it was restorative.

The cabin door banged open and there was Crowley, stamping his feet and rubbing his upper arms to warm himself, staring at Aziraphale in confusion.

“I thought we were meeting at your bookshop tonight? Is it … are you upset about the masked ball? Me coming to you after? I’m sorry I skipped seeing you last year, couldn’t wiggle my way out of being recalled to Hell, I did try ….”

“Crowley?”

“Hm?”

“Stop talking and hold me.”

There was a supernatural blur of movement, and Crowley was on the floor with him, lifting the angel into his lap as if he weighed nothing. 

“The ball was perfect.”

His face was buried so snugly against Crowley’s thin shoulder that the words came out as a muffled mrmf.

“What’s that, Angel?”

Crowley tucked a finger under his chin and tilted his face up with unbearable tenderness. Aziraphale swallowed hard, determined not to cry. Crowley was already halfway convinced he’d done something wrong, and the angel longed to comfort him.

“It was perfect. The ball, it was perfect. I’ll never forget dancing with you like that” He pressed a gentle little kiss to Crowley’s fingertip. “And I will most certainly never forget what came after. I did … I did worry that I’d done wrong by you and I hadn’t meant to be quite so rough when we kissed, and I do know it was the most terrible case of mixed signals really, but ...”

Crowley was watching him with a lopsided grin.

“Satan’s sake, I really did miss you. C’mon Angel, what’s all this about?”

Aziraphale shook his head, quickly brushing the tears from his eyes. “It’s so cold in here, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll just warm the place up a little ...”

“Aziraphale.”

“Ran into a spot of trouble, my dear. Seems your side sent one of their own here too – it’s quite an interesting little place, lots of powerful land energy apparently, quite the religious history too. Probably wanted to make sure the other side didn’t get control of it.”

“Were you … hurt?”

Crowley’s voice was softer than the downiest feathers, but his eyes clearly said that if someone had to die tonight, well, that was just the price you paid for touching his angel.

“Don’t.”

He gripped Crowley’s arm.

“Don’t give us away. Both sides might well suspect something by now. If you go raining hellfire at people, we shall be rumbled indeed.”

Crowley tried to smile, but couldn’t raise even the ghost of a grin.

“Look, it was my own silly fault. You know how vulnerable I am in the moment straight after winching in my wings, I should have just stayed hidden until they’d settled. But there was no one around so I set off down the road ...”

“Hastur?”

“I think so. It was terribly dark, and it was over rather quickly. A quick blow is one thing, but he likely didn’t want a full fight.”

Crowley looked sick, his throat working as he swallowed. Seeing the sadness in his eyes hurt far more than what Hastur had done.

“Angel, please show me?”

“I … it’s. It’s nothing. A glancing blow. It’ll be alright as soon as I can muster up the energy to heal it.”

“Angel ….”

With a last look in Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale lowered his head and gingerly shrugged off his coat and waistcoat, indicating that Crowley should look at his back. He heard a sharp gasp, quickly stifled, as Crowley carefully lifted his shirt to look at the area at the back of his waist, which felt skin-meltingly hot. Then Crowley clicked his fingers and Aziraphale found himself face down on his own bed, in the apartment above the bookshop, the demon seated next to him.

“Crowley?”

“Thought you’d be more comfortable here.”

He rested his palm above the wound.

“Didn’t you tell me Gabriel was meeting you for a quick performance review after your miracle?”

Aziraphale nodded into the pillow.

“Does he know?”

“Saw him walking away after. Must have seen.”

There was a low growl from above him, and the room shuddered slightly as a demon struggled to rein in his power. 

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

“You will not. You will not risk this because of him, Crowley.”

No response, but suddenly Crowley’s fingers were brushing away the tears that had started flowing down Aziraphale’s cheeks. He leaned down, nuzzling close and pressing gentle kisses to his face.

“’m sorry, Angel. 

“Sky’s blue, water’s wet, Gabriel thinks I’m not worth saving. I can’t see it … tell me the damage?”

If Crowley heard that crack in his voice, he had the manners not to mention it. Instead, there was a long silence as he examined Aziraphale’s back.

“Looks like a radiation burn. Fuck, it must hurt …. Angel, how do I help you?”

“Darling, the only thing that could possibly heal it is divine energy, thought perhaps holy water might take the edge off. Might you help me make it more comfortable until I regain my strength to heal it myself? Treat it as one would treat a human burn.”

“I have an idea. You won’t like it.”

“Crowley I swear to anything you like, if you suggest going and getting that flask of holy water I shall steal your Bentley, get to your flat first, and confiscate the damn thing.”

He heard the low storm-break of Crowley’s laugh. It was deeply comforting.

“Even I know that’s too dangerous. I have another idea.”

He lay down on his side next to Aziraphale so the angel could turn his head to see into wide golden eyes, glasses discarded.

“I need you to give me some of your energy. I think I can use it to jerry-rig a line to heaven and pull down enough divinity to heal you. Just – I need you to be very careful. You’ve said before about not letting me change you, we can’t … mix them. Just give me a little bit and I’ll use it as a screen so I can grab some energy from up above.”

“You’re out of your mind, Crowley!”

“They’ll never know.”

“It could burn you, you stupid man!”

“But divine energy can’t destroy me without someone directing it to do so. I could walk through Heaven without coming to any lasting harm, s’long as I didn’t get caught. Just need a way to hide what I’m doing, and your energy could do that.”

“Yes, but this isn’t walking through Heaven. This is taking the divinity into you, Crowley.”

“If I do it right it won’t really hurt me, maybe just feel a bit hot. Look, Angel, I can’t leave it. Could be weeks till you’re up to healing it. Could get worse in that time, could spread further.”

Aziraphale chewed his lower lip, mostly decided to say no, absolutely not, but finding a tiny sliver inside him that wanted very much for the pain to stop. 

“It will hurt you.”

He whispered at last.

“Even if it doesn’t burn you, feeling grace again after your fall … it will hurt.”

“Not as much as seeing you in pain.”

Crowley wriggled closer until their legs were entwined.

“What would you do, Angel, if you were me?”

Aziraphale shut his eyes.

“Wily serpent.”

“Yup. Now … gonna give me some of your energy?”

If it had been anyone else or if he’d been less dazed he would have protested more, but it was Crowley, Crowley who he could trust with anything … he tentatively extended a tendril of his energy. The demon smiled encouragingly, then closed his eyes on a full-body shiver. Aziraphale froze. 

“Dear boy?”

Crowley opened his eyes, half-laughing.

“Bad time to mention that your energy feels better than heaven ever did and I just want more and more of it?”

Aziraphale laughed, but reached down to squeeze his hand tight.

“Right then.”

Crowley took a deep breath as if that would steady him, and Aziraphale felt the snap of divine energy making its way to earth. Crowley gasped sharply, a look of pain furrowing his brow as he quickly put his hand on Aziraphale’s back. The angel wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s wrist, trying to steady him, comforting him even as the demon healed him. 

It was over in minutes. Aziraphale rolled onto his side to face Crowley, dragging a warm, soft plaid blanket up over them both, then taking the demon’s hand and pressing gentle kisses to the slightly reddened palm.

“You ok?”

“Me? Angel, I’m fine.”

“How did it feel?”

Crowley’s look was complicated, his eyes sun-bright and hard, giving nothing away. When he deflected, Aziraphale took the hint and didn’t press for more.

“Just tell me how you feel, Angel. Did I do enough?”

“More than.”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss. Crowley kissed him back softly, thumb stroking near the corner of his mouth. 

“You seem remarkably peaceful, all things considered.”

He commented with a quirk of the eyebrow. Aziraphale closed the distance between them until their chests rose and fell together with every breath.

“Of course I am. You’re here.”

He nuzzled his head into Crowley’s shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing in the woodsmoke and wine scent of him. He felt warm and drowsy, and strongly suspected it was less because of the divine energy and more because of the nearness of Crowley, so kind and loving and so completely his. He said as much, and was rewarded with gentle kisses in his hair, and the feel of the demon’s hands cupping and stroking his back, even if he did whisper teasingly in his ear “Don’t let word get around that I can be kind. Could get in a lot of trouble for that. Besides, I’m only kind to you.”

As Aziraphale drifted off to sleep for the second time in his life, his last thought was that one day Crowley would be free to be as kind, and Aziraphale as delightfully open to temptation, as they wanted to … together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I used my free day for this one.  
> Song(s) I had on repeat: I'll See Your Heart and Raise You Mine (BellX1), In The Arms of the Angel (Sarah McLachlan)


	14. Soho, 1994 / Mesopotamia 1st century AD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh you dear, beautiful demon. Sparks explode inside me every time you touch me. It’s as if you’re re-writing me as you go. No, don’t look like that. I don’t mind it all, quite the contrary. But I’m afraid it might be obvious. Might change my energy.”
> 
> “Mark you as tainted.”
> 
> Crowley said miserably. Aziraphale shook his head, smiling gently as he reached up to run his thumb over Crowley’s lower lip.
> 
> “Paint me with stardust I should rather think. But it could be dangerous. Let’s just … let’s start by being around each other more. I should rather like to keep you in my life, if you’ll stay.”
> 
> Crowley sat up, the irony of a demon removing the source of temptation not lost on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sweet, soft fluff to make up for the angst of the last chapter.

**Soho, 1994**

* * *

“D’ya remember our first kiss, Angel?”

Crowley swirled a peppermint candy cane through his hot chocolate, before sucking it in a way that made Aziraphale give him a wicked grin.

“Oh, no. Absolutely forgotten it. Were you my first kiss? I’ve had so many since then, you know.”

Crowley laughed and swatted his arm. They both knew Aziraphale had kissed precisely zero other suitors, and nor had Crowley. The demon moved a few inches along the sofa so they were pressed side to side, gazing into the crackling fire. It was Christmas night, their first Christmas together for five years, and it was perfect. Hot chocolate laced with brandy, some exceptionally good mince pies, and twinkling fairy lights strung around the shop. The mince pies ought to be good too; Crowley had spent the afternoon kneading and rolling and letting the pastry know it had better behave, if it knew what was good for it.

“Of course I do.”

Aziraphale continued with a laugh, and turned to press a soft kiss to his cheek. Crowley felt the smile against his skin. The warmth and comfort (and the brandy) had lulled him into an unusually relaxed state, and it was so easy to let his mind drift back thousand of years, to Mesopotamia in the first century AD. 

* * *

He’d only seen the angel a scant handful of times. Yet, Crowley (as he was newly called) couldn’t get Aziraphale out of his mind. Before his fall, Crowley had been big on asking questions and not exactly good at following orders. It stood to reason that a principality who could stand on the wall of Eden and admit to his enemy that he’d given his sword away would catch his interest.

As for the first rainstorm, well, suffice to say that Crowley always smiled when it rained since then, even if he got blessedly wet, because it reminded him of a majestic white wing sheltering him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He hadn’t intended to kiss him. 

Kissing was something humans did. Desire was something humans felt. None of it was anything to do with Crowley. 

Love wasn’t in Crowley’s vocabulary back then. It had been once. But being ripped from grace and hurled into sulphur that sloughed off your skin and torched your wings had a way of burning the impulse for love out of one. Unlovable. Discarded. That’s what he was.

So he didn’t associate Aziraphale with love, beyond the obvious fact that he was an angel and therefore built for it. As Crowley had once been built for it. 

And if every time he was apart from the angel the decades ground by with all the speed of tectonic plates shifting, well, that was because it was nice to know someone else understood what it was like, being here on earth, with them.

Nothing more.

It had started surprisingly innocently, for a demon. He’d discovered a cave filled with flowers. Being that flowers don’t usually grow in caves, it amused him. He often found little quirks like that in the early days. A lake that was a strange shade of lilac. A bird whose song was a little too musical to be real. Rocks that floated when he threw them into a nearby river. It was as if the world was still figuring out how to be alive.

This particular time, Aziraphale happened to be in the area too, so Crowley sought him out, and found him up to his elbows in sheep, helping a local family shear their flock. When he’d finished teasing him for turning to sheep husbandry as a career (which earned him the most delightful, exasperated sigh, and a sharp look from those lovely blue eyes), he told Aziraphale about the cave.

“Want to see?”

If you asked Crowley afterwards why he offered the angel his hand, given that they’d never touched, he couldn’t have told you. He’d probably mutter something about thinking he might need help walking up the steep path.

Whatever the reason, Crowley couldn’t deny the sensation that shot through his hand when skin touched skin, as if Crowley’s body had been asleep until that moment, and was suddenly wide awake. If Aziraphale noticed, he gave no indication, and so Crowley chatted casually about other anomalies he’d found as he showed Aziraphale the cave and watched the angel exclaiming with delight over the tiny white, yellow and purple flowers blooming happily against a thick carpet of green. They compared notes – the angel had found some anomalies too – and Crowley made it seem like a casual visit between acquaintances. And if he couldn’t resist stealing glances at the angel’s profile as he sat in the mouth of the cave, admiring the landscape, well, no one had to know.

He hadn’t meant to kiss him.

Hadn’t even considered kissing as a thing he might want to do.

It all started with a simple question.

It was getting darker, at the time. The air was still warm, the evening draping itself lazily over the land like a soft blue blanket. Crowley idly set a few balls of light hovering in the cave like fireflies.

“How lovely.”

Aziraphale commented.

“Wasn’t sure how well you could see in the dark.”

“That was very considerate of you.”

“’m not considerate. Demons aren’t.”

He sat down beside Aziraphale.

“Well, it was thoughtful all the same. Do you miss Heaven?”

“What kind of question is that?”

Crowley fidgeted, fingers reaching to pluck some flowers, then noticing the horrified look on Aziraphale’s face and stopping himself. 

“I meant no offence. It’s only, if you were lonely or … or sad … we might see each other more often.”

“Ngk.”

Said Crowley, but his heart was saying several things, the clearest of which was “hello, I still very much work, and I am about to complicate your life horribly.”

“Silly idea, I apologize. We are hereditary enemies after all.”

He turned to look at Crowley then, who learned for the first time how a heart feels when it skips a beat.

“Or so they tell me.”

He was conflicted. Crowley could see it, and panic was rising up in him. His stomach was knotting itself into intricate loops of worry. He didn’t know hunger. He didn’t know thirst. He didn’t know sleepiness, though he’d experimented with sleeping all the same. But he knew longing in that moment, when it felt that every cell of his body was clamouring for a way to soothe the kind, sometimes reckless, anxious celestial being in front of him.

And then Aziraphale’s fingertips were on his lips, and Crowley wondered if this was how it felt the second before discorporation, because he was quite certain no human body was made for the shivers that were striking through him like lightning.

“But you don’t … I don’t … “

What Aziraphale meant to articulate neither of them ever found out, for the next moment they'd both closed the distance between them as if of one mind, and oh those were his hands on Crowley’s face and those were his lips, pressing against Crowley’s, moving over them as if he meant to map out every detail of the demon’s mouth with his own.

Crowley was a creature of flame and instinct. His mind had given coherency up as a losing game the second he felt Aziraphale’s mouth on his, but his body understood this new language as if he’d been created to read Aziraphale with his hands and mouth. 

“Is this alright?”

He asked softly, drawing back barely enough to speak. Aziraphale nodded, once, then his hands were slowly trailing through Crowley’s hair, as if he meant to learn every strand by heart, and Crowley was pressing him back, carefully laying him down against the soft, mossy cave floor, leaving him haloed by tiny flowers, lit by unearthly lights. He paused, supporting his weight with his hands braced either side of the angel, gazing down at him. He was, Crowley thought, the most beautiful thing She had created. 

Pale blue eyes gazed wonderingly into his as he reached up and pulled Crowley down to lie on top of him. The feel of their hips pressing close, the angel’s stomach warm against his own, dragged an involuntarily cry from the demon, not unlike those he’d heard Eve make in the garden when she and Adam lay down together. Flushing, he pressed his hand to his mouth, hardly able to meet the angel’s eyes.

“I don’t understand either.”

Aziraphale said gently, taking Crowley’s hand away from his mouth and instead bringing it to the angel’s own lips, kissing each knuckle softly.

“What if you … fall?”

The last word got stuck in his throat, mangled as it came out.

“I think it would have happened as soon as I … wanted you close to me. Certainly when we kissed.”

Crowley nodded slowly, lowering his head to nuzzle behind the angel’s ear, tongue flickering against the skin there and finding it tasted of honey and roses. There was so much of Aziraphale to learn. He could spend years exploring the shape of his collarbone, aeons experimenting with different touches inside his thighs, just to see which ones would elicit the kind of sound that had broken, unbidden, from Crowley’s own lips.

 _I want to draw maps to every star I ever hung, across your skin._ He thought. _I want to trace them with my tongue until you’re glowing with pleasure, brighter than even my best creations._

He pressed his lips to the dip of Aziraphale’s throat, hands treasuring the angel’s sides, gasping softly at every rise and dip of his ribs under the demon’s hands, hiding a moan against his skin when his long fingers brushed Aziraphale’s stomach. 

“Crowley.”

It was somewhere between a warning and a entreaty, carried on a groan that rushed through Crowley’s own veins like fire.

“I don’t think we can.”

Even as he said the words, his thigh came up to brush Crowley’s hip, back arching slightly, inviting Crowley to press his palm into the hollow and draw the angel’s body even closer. Which he did. Aziraphale shut his eyes, breath catching on a gasp. When he opened them, they were shining with joy.

“Oh. Oh, you’re beautiful.”

Crowley mumbled a protest, hiding his face against the angel’s shoulder. 

“We can’t because I’m a demon, right?”

“No!”

It was sudden and loud and Crowley drew back in shock. Aziraphale was looking at him with a ferocity he couldn’t have imagined on the angel’s gentle face.

“You’re lovely.”

He said more quietly.

“This feels … strange, but in the most wonderful way. As if I were created for a secret purpose that I forgot until now. My only concern, my dear Crowley, is what our respective sides might do to us – what might happen to you – if they found out.”

“Who’s going to tell ‘em, Angel?”

“Oh you dear, beautiful demon. Sparks explode inside me every time you touch me. It’s as if you’re re-writing me as you go. No, don’t look like that. I don’t mind it all, quite the contrary. But I’m afraid it might be obvious. Might change my energy.”

“Mark you as tainted.”

Crowley said miserably. Aziraphale shook his head, smiling gently as he reached up to run his thumb over Crowley’s lower lip.

“Paint me with stardust I should rather think. But it could be dangerous. Let’s just … let’s start by being around each other more. I should rather like to keep you in my life, if you’ll stay.”

Crowley sat up, the irony of a demon removing the source of temptation not lost on him.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, Angel.”

He put his arm out, and Aziraphale snuggled contentedly into his side where they stayed, watching the night together until streaks of gold and blue painted the approach of dawn on the sky.

* * *

“I still think about it every day.”

Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s mouth as they kissed. The angel tasted of chocolate and peppermint, and Crowle was quite certain he was going to cease to function because of those soft, intense kisses.

“Me too.”

He said softly, nibbling Aziraphale’s lip and grinning wickedly at the yelp it won him.

“The year we can find out how that ought to have ended will be my best Christmas ever.”

He added with a wink, laughing too hard to defend himself as Aziraphale hit him with a tartan sofa cushion and called him a wicked, incorrigible fiend. 

They were spending Christmas together, and all was well with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peppermint (I'm sorry, I'm playing a bit fast and loose with some of the prompts!)
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: The Mystic's Dream (Loreena McKennitt)


	15. London 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale paused. Crowley knew a bit about his relationship to Heaven, of course. He’d been nothing but patient during all the times Aziraphale had found himself caught in their rhetoric, not quite able to break free of it without a certain amount of time and the careful application of some quite honestly very tender and kind demonic wiles. 
> 
> But he never talked to Crowley about how anxious he got from time to time. How sometimes a wrong word or sharp-tongued rebuff could haunt him for years; how he could find himself slipping out of time and back to the moment in question, turning it over and over in his mind until he felt sick with wishing he could say or do something differently. How easy it was to convince himself that Crowley wouldn’t want him around because of some slight. How sometimes it felt like no amount of reassurance would ever be enough, because the belief that he was enough for Crowley, had always been enough for Crowley, had to start with himself. And he found it impossible to believe.

London, 2007

* * *

“Is this what it takes to get to see you these days? Sneaking into the theatre without a ticket?”

There was a tease in the tone, but there was hurt too, and Aziraphale felt his stomach sink like a stone.

“Crowley.”

He said softly, half-rising from his seat in the plush box. Crowley gestured for him to sit back down, sliding into the seat next to him.

“You don’t even like theatre boxes, Angel. You always complain the view isn’t as good from the side.”

“Less people around, though. Good for if I wish to think, dear boy.”

“What is there to think about? It’s The Nutcracker. Mice vs Gingerbread. Visions of sugar plums. Spoiler alert: There are candy canes. Frankly I’m more interested in why you’re here and not with me.”

Aziraphale felt a flush of shame blooming across his cheeks.

“I was going to come by your flat after. I know you aren’t especially keen on The Nutcracker.”

“Aziraphale.”

The lights had gone down for the second act. It was easier in the dark, somehow.

“I have been a little absent, haven’t I?”

“Angel, I’ve seen you twice in the last decade. If you don’t want to see me any more, you’d better say so because I’m not interested in being strung along ...”

“It’s not that. It’s never that.”

He reached out to stroke Crowley’s hair, letting out an exhale that he seemed to have been holding in for several years.

“Oh, I know that really.” 

Crowley leaned into his hand.

“Just tell me what’s got your bow tie in a twist.”

Aziraphale paused. Crowley knew a bit about his relationship to Heaven, of course. He’d been nothing but patient during all the times Aziraphale had found himself panicking and repeating their rhetoric, not quite able to break free of it without a certain amount of time and the careful application of some quite rather tender and kind demonic wiles. 

But he never talked to Crowley about how anxious he got from time to time. How sometimes a wrong word or sharp-tongued rebuff could haunt him for years; how he could find himself slipping out of time and back to the moment in question, turning it over and over in his mind until he felt sick with wishing he could say or do something differently. How easy it was to convince himself that Crowley wouldn’t want him around because of some slight. How sometimes it felt like no amount of reassurance would ever be enough, because the belief that he was enough for Crowley, had always been enough for Crowley, had to start with himself. And he found it impossible to believe.

“Hey.”

Fingers laced with his and the warm press of Crowley’s palm. He turned to see the demon had removed his glasses, his golden eyes bright in the darkness, like the first sun’s rays glowing through yellow flowers in the first garden.

“Tell me what’s wrong, or I’ll beg. And then I’ll never forgive you for making me beg.”

Aziraphale almost laughed at that, fingers stroking Crowley's.

“I know they’re not your side.”

He blurted.

“What?”

“Hell. I know they’re not your side.”

Crowley shook his head slightly, looking understandably baffled.

“Want to take a walk, Angel? We can wait till the end of the show.”

Aziraphale shook his head, already standing up. Crowley smiled up at him, though his gold-flushed eyes gave away how worried he was, which made matters much worse. Aziraphale felt ridiculous, causing such concern over one comment that he’d made over a decade ago.

Things looked a little brighter as he and Crowley strolled around Hyde Park, sipping the cinnamon and vanilla hot chocolate Crowley had insisted on getting for him. The trees were strung with lights that gleamed in the cold air, and the sound of laughter from the skating rink was delightful. Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s waist as they walked, and he relaxed against the demon’s side.

“This is how I imagine our future.” He said softly. “Remember in Glasgow, you told me how you imagined our future? This is how I imagine it. Spending days and nights with you, going for walks and cuddling and never having to look over our shoulders.”

Crowley said nothing, but Aziraphale felt a kiss pressed into his hair.

“So … you know Hell aren’t my side, apparently …..”

Aziraphale gave a soft laugh that gave up halfway through and started a new career as a quiet sob.

“That night in Wales...”

“I recall, yes. Your energy got me hot under the collar at the most inopportune moment.”

Aziraphale tried to laugh, but couldn’t. He remembered the look of pain on Crowley’s face as he felt Heaven's grace for the first time since his fall, and suddenly all he could do was sit down on the nearest bench and bury his face in his hands.

“Angel?”

Crowley’s hand was rubbing his back and his voice was so gentle and oh why did he always resort to throwing his demonic nature back at him like a weapon when really he was just so kind and gentle with him?

He didn’t realize just quite how hard he was crying until he tried to explain all this to Crowley and could barely manage more than a few choked syllables.

“Your side. I said your side sent someone. That night.”

He managed at last.

“Not your side. You’d never hurt me.”

The words were struggling their way past sobs and hiccups like Olympic high jumpers putting all their effort into clearing the bar.

“And I always call them your side but they’re not, they’re not. You’re not like them.”

Crowley was looking at him as if he were speaking a new language and Crowley didn’t have the dictionary yet. 

“Angel, I don’t give a shit. I only care that you didn’t die. You could have called me a demonic asparagus and threatened to make me into soup for all I gave a damn … blessing … about it. Did you … have you been avoiding me because you once referred to Hell as my side? You’ve said worse, let’s be frank.”

Aziraphale choked out a laugh, a real one, at that, gratefully accepting the handkerchief (black with red edges) that Crowley passed him.

“Can you explain it to me?”

And so he did, as best he could. In between occasional hitching breaths and nervous laughs, he explained to Crowley how sometimes his mind would latch on to some perceived wrongdoing and torture him with it. How in those moments he convinced himself that his skewed view of reality was the truth. How if he didn’t find a way to check it, it could easily build itself into a perfect vortex of self-recrimination.

“And then, you see, I feel terrible for treating you so badly, so I don’t think I ought to see you, and then I feel terrible for not seeing you when you’re so good to me, which makes me feel worse, until eventually I feel guilty for wanting to be around you, when I so clearly don’t deserve you. It feels like nothing will ever be enough to prove to me that I’m allowed to love you. I don’t mean – I know I’m not technically allowed to, obviously. But I mean, even if we were two humans, I’d feel like I’m not allowed to love you, for I’ve already ruined my last chance with you. That surely this time you’ll lose patience and give up. And then, other times, it’s nothing like that.”

“Other times you’re confident enough to slam me into doors, kiss me till I think I might discorporate, and tell me you can’t wait till we can spend whole nights in bed?”

Their shared laughter made music in the air. Crowley was still rubbing his back, his palm tracing warm circles.

“Angel, the humans have a word for that: Anxiety. I get it sometimes, too.”

Aziraphale looked at him, struggling with the whirl of thoughts and feelings that were fighting for supremacy and finding that in the end, it was easier to say nothing.

“There is no last chance with me. We both know it can’t be long now till the wheels are put in motion, and all I want is to find a way to survive what’s coming, stop what’s coming. So we can have that life.”

He leaned closer and kissed the tip of Aziraphale’s nose.

“Want you just the way you are, Angel. C’mon. Let’s have that life of yours, just for tonight.”

A few minutes later, a very wobbly Aziraphale was clinging to Crowley for balance as they glided around the skating rink. 

“Thought you’d be better at this, what with all the Gavotte dancing.”

Crowley grinned, steadying Aziraphale through a particularly unbalanced turn. His skates swished on the ice as he gently backed Aziraphale against the edge of the rink, cupping his face in both hands. 

“We are on opposite sides, Angel. Our safety relies on keeping up that appearance, remember?”

“But not tonight.”

Crowley smiled suddenly, and Aziraphale forgot everything except how much he loved his demon.

“Not tonight.”

Crowley agreed, bending to kiss Aziraphale slowly, wrapping his arms around him as if he could hide them both from what was coming, breathing the next words against his lips.

“Tonight we’re on our own side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Nutcracker  
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: Take On The World (You Me At Six)
> 
> Other things:
> 
> 1\. I'm going to lightly retcon the prologue after the end of this challenge. I wrote it as a one shot originally not knowing this would turn into a story instead, so I want to tie it back in to this moment!
> 
> 2\. I know anxiety is different for different people, but I based this on my own experiences of it.


	16. Edinburgh 2008

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ice skating was awkward. The walk along Edinburgh’s snowlit streets wasn’t nearly as romantic as it ought to have been given that it was a perfect winter wonderland. Crowley over-compensated for his difficulty in speaking by doing nothing but speaking, babbling all kinds of nonsense about pop culture, life as a nanny, Edinburgh history and even, in one delirious moment, the exact process of hot smoking trout, as per the Witchery menu. 
> 
> “Crowley!”
> 
> Aziraphale pulled him to a halt on Princes Street, after he’d succeeded in dropping hot cider over both of them, and them somehow miracled it into icing sugar instead of miracling it away.
> 
> “What on earth is wrong with you tonight? Are you ill? Do you need to lie down?”
> 
> “All good, Angel!”
> 
> He chirped, sounding several miles south of emotionally balanced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley prepares to ask the most important question of his life.

**Edinburgh, 2008**

* * *

“This is ridiculous.”

Crowley hissed to himself, tapping his fingers on the Bentley’s steering wheel. He knew Aziraphale loved him. More than loved him. Wanted to *be* with him. He’d told Crowley the thought of a future where they could love each other freely kept him going. The feather in Vermont; the way he’d poured his angelic power into giving them that one electrifying kiss after the masked ball; how he’d been so intent on comforting Crowley after the incident in Wales, when he was the one who’d been injured, not the demon.

Satan’s sake, even without any of those things one look in those eyes would do it. Aziraphale’s feelings had always shown in his gaze as brightly as sunlight on the ocean.

Still. There was knowing the angel loved him, and then there was …. the thing Crowley had been thinking about doing for over a hundred years, since that chilly night in Vermont.

He shrugged.

“Tonight’s as good a night to risk it as any, right?”

He told himself and tried to reassure himself with an answering “yes”. Somewhere between the start and the finish, that yes turned itself into a giant ball of panic that settled in Crowley’s stomach and amused itself by spinning around and occassionally jabbing him with a spike of “what the fuck are you even thinking right now.”

“Better to know.”

He muttered, trying desperately to convince himself.

“The end of the world’s coming after all.”

Problem was, tonight could very well be the end of Crowley’s world. With that extremely helpful thought, he got out of the car and trudged across the snow-streaked Royal Mile to The Witchery. 

Aziraphale had been most receptive when Crowley suggested booking them into the plush Edinburgh hotel for one night, that Christmas. The angel had loved the city since the early days of the Arrangement, and moreso in later years when cities became clean, bright, cultured places instead of being rife with plagues and raw sewage. The mere memory of the Nor Loch before it was drained to make room for Princes Street Gardens was enough to make anyone queasy. 

But even in those days, Edinburgh had a dramatic beauty that Crowley had never seen anywhere else. It was as if the city had simply risen unbidden out of the land without human intervention, the sandstone sculpting itself into a gothic daydream of columns and spires, cathedrals and follies. The angel adored it. And after the year they’d had, what with the Antichrist being born and both of them taking up residence as members of the Dowling’s household staff in a desperate attempt to avert Armageddon, Crowley figured they both deserved a night together at Christmas. For old time’s sake.

At 4:30 on a December night, Edinburgh was already dark, the arches and cobbles of the city streets gleaming in the lamplight under a deep blue sky. Crowley slipped into the opulent foyer of The Witchery and retrieved the key to their suite, aptly named The Library. Of course he’d chosen that one. The couple previously booked to stay in The Library that night suddenly found they had another pressing engagement and _oh, would you look at that, that suite appears to be available for Christmas after all Mr. Crowley, how odd!_

Crowley relaxed for approximately a millionth of a second when he stepped into the room. It was … it was them. It had the grandiosity and space of his Mayfair apartment, paired with the velvety opulent detail of the bookshop. Bona fide Victorian sofas from Taymouth Castle adorned the sitting area, while antique red velvet curtains framed the windows that looked out onto The Royal Mile. The room was a perfect portrait drawn in red paisley fabric, ornate oak furniture, and elegant tile floors, softly lit by antique lamps and chandeliers. According to the website, the book-lined bathroom with its double-ended bateau bath was accessed through a secret bookshelf. 

It was as if Aziraphale had discarded a dream somewhere in Edinburgh,and the city had scooped it up and formed it into a perfect place just for him.

Crowley sat down on the edge of the heavily canopied bed with its multitude of cushions in the richest, most tactile fabrics. The counterpane alone must have cost a pretty penny. Apparently the restaurant was world-class. Indeed, Crowley had booked the entire thing for later, where they would eat sitting on red leather seats, surrounded by oak panelling and ancient tapestries and dining on such delicacies as hot-smoked sea-reared trout, breast of pheasant with saffron poached carrots, and Christmas pudding sundae with cinder toffee.

Crowley sincerely doubted he’d ever be able to eat again, if the hobnail-booted butterflies in his stomach had any say in the matter. 

“My dear boy!”

Aziraphale exclaimed, stopping in the doorway with a gasp, almost dropping his antique leather and wood travel trunk. It was a good job the angel was so strong, Crowley thought. Most humans would have been gasping for breath after dragging that thing up the stairs.

“This is … well, it’s a veritable dream, isn’t it? Darling, how sweet of you to choose it.”

Crowley smiled, but found that words didn’t want to come out of his mouth. At least, not yet. Some words did. But others had stage fright and had decided to clam up. Thankfully Aziraphale was too busy having raptures about the ornate fireplace, gold and red upholstered royal sofas, and delicate silver candelabras, to notice.

“Apparently the restaurant here’s pretty special. Think that’s The Witchery, actually, the restaurant, the rooms were a later addition. Anyway. We can go later. Or now if you’re hungry.”

Aziraphale sat down on the bed next to him and Crowley’s heart did something complicated that knocked the breath clean out of him.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Aziraphale reached out to stroke his hair softly.

“I’m being an old silly, I know. I see you every day at the Dowling’s. Do you think it’s working?”

His brow furrowed in that way that made Crowley want to re-arrange the universe just to ease his worries. Before Crowley could answer, Aziraphale spoke again.

“No, don’t answer, dear. This night is for us. I don’t want to waste it worrying, especially when you took the trouble to arrange such beautiful lodgings.”

His fingers appraised the heavy embroidered bedclothes, then quickly trailed over the spines of the books on the bedside shelves.

“In hindsight, getting a suite where even the bathroom’s lined with books wasn’t my smartest idea. Might not get much attention the whole night.”

“And what kind of attention do you desire, dear?”

Aziraphale said with a wink, and Crowley barked out a laugh. Aziraphale gave him an indulgent smile, and squeezed his hand tight. It was a perfect moment. Perhaps, Crowley thought, it would be better to enjoy this. They could try the restaurant later, and then perhaps snuggle together under the bed canopy, kissing softly, whispering all the things that Christmas was made for saying.

Perhaps it would be far more sensible to enjoy what he had, rather than hope for far, far more than he could ever deserve.

This was starting to look like a worse and worse idea. 

“Crowley, are you sure you’re quite alright? Are you worried about what’s coming? Oh my dear I understand ...”

“All good Angel.”

Crowley got up with exaggerated purposefulness. He was worried about what was coming alright, but not in the way Aziraphale thought.

“Right then! What first? The restaurant? Walk along the Royal Mile? Ice skating? Satan knows you need the practice.”

“If you like, dear.”

Aziraphale was still watching him with that concerned look, as if worried Crowley might fall apart at any moment (which to be fair, was an accurate assessment.) Before he had the chance to say anything else, Crowley bundled him back up in the coat and scarf he’d only just removed, and hurried him out the door and onto the street.

The ice skating was awkward. The walk along Edinburgh’s snowlit streets wasn’t nearly as romantic as it ought to have been given that it was a perfect winter wonderland. Crowley over-compensated for his difficulty in speaking by doing nothing but speaking, babbling all kinds of nonsense about pop culture, life as a nanny, Edinburgh history and even, in one delirious moment, the exact process of hot smoking trout, as per the Witchery menu. 

“Crowley!”

Aziraphale pulled him to a halt on Princes Street, after he’d succeeded in dropping hot cider over both of them, and them somehow miracled it into icing sugar instead of miracling it away.

“What on earth is wrong with you tonight? Are you ill? Do you need to lie down?”

“All good, Angel!”

He chirped, sounding several miles south of emotionally balanced.

“Dinner?”

Aziraphale gave him a sardonic look.

“After that will you let me enjoy the beautiful room you chose for us, but apparently don't want me to spend any time in?”

“Sure! Anything you want! Well, better get to it. Um. So they have time to cook it before, um. Let’s go.”

The baroque dining room and its award-winning food lived up to their reputation. Crowley made it through dinner with only one minor incident involving an overturned champagne bucket, though he ate even less than normal, and seemed in a great hurry for Aziraphale to get to each new course. The angel took to that about as well as a horse to ballet dancing.

“Really! Do you have somewhere better to be? Am I boring you?”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

Crowley rushed to reassure him, but when Aziraphale demanded to know what, then, Crowley resumed his current favourite occupation of worrying the edge of the table cloth into shreds with nails that kept forgetting they weren’t supposed to be talons. Dinner was over in record time, and they made their way in silence back to the suite, where Crowley sat down wretchedly on the bed and wondered if it was possible to reverse time rather than stop it.

“I am going to draw a bath.”

Aziraphale told him.

“Perhaps when I’m done we could read together? Or play cards? Have a glass or six of whisky?”

The gentleness in his voice was too much. Irritated though he was, he was worried. He wanted to make it better. He was probably hoping that a little time alone to regroup would see them right. As the bathroom door closed quietly (after Aziraphale’s smile at the secret bookcase practically blew out the bulbs in the chandelier), Crowley curled up on his side on the bed and muffled a frustrated scream into a plush silk pillow. The night wasn’t just going off script. It had torn the script into shreds and set the shreds on fire.

He had a good hour before Aziraphale emerged from the bath. That was time to get his head straight, right? Of course it was. Positivity. Yeah. Maybe if he rehearsed what to say.

  
He was sure he’d practiced this in his head a thousand times, so why couldn’t he remember a word of it? Pacing around the room didn’t help. Stress organising the books to be in a more sensible order didn’t help (though he was sure Aziraphale would be proud of him when he found out.) Defeated, Crowley plumped back down onto the bed with his head in his hands. 

“Get it together.”

He told himself sternly.

“Or at this rate your show-stopping proposal is going to consist of blurting out um, marry me!”

“Crowley?”

Oh shit. Shitshitshitshit. Aziraphale was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, clad in pale blue silk pinstripe pajamas, hair damp and mussed up from the bath, holding the door frame so tight his knuckles were white. Crowley could see how hard he was trembling.

“You want me to … marry you?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean …. shit, Angel, can we just forget you heard that?”

“We most certainly cannot.”

He walked over to the bed, rather unsteadily, and sat down so close their thighs were touching. Crowley stared miserably at the floor.

“Even if you were going to say no, I wish I’d at least asked properly. I’ve made such a mess of this.”

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale was stroking his face, fingers gently insisting that Crowley look at him. When he raised his head, the angel touched his sunglasses and at the demon’s permissive nod, carefully placed them on the nearby table.

“Crowley, dearest. Would you like for us to get married?”

Well, it was tell the truth even if it did shame the devil time. He gave one quick, sharp nod. And promptly found the breath knocked out of him by the speed with which Aziraphale seized his face in his hands and kissed him over and over, on his cheeks and nose and jaw and forehead and lips, whispering “yes, yes, yes of course I’ll marry you” in between rapid kisses. Crowley closed his eyes, the better to hear the way his angel said yes over and over, that he might never forget the tiniest detail of his voice in that moment.  
  
He didn’t know when he started crying. Wouldn’t have noticed at all were it not for Aziraphale whispering “oh, my dear, darling boy” as he kissed the tears away, thumbs gently wiping away those his lips didn’t catch. Then his face was buried against Aziraphale’s strong shoulder and he was weeping fit to discorporate from it, and Aziraphale was wrapping him in his arms and rocking him, whispering "it's ok Crowley, I'm here, I'm yours, you've got me".

When the storm subsided a little, Aziraphale raised the demon’s face so he could look in his eyes, giving him a smile so loving Crowley could have sworn he felt a bit less damned.

“That was … that was a terrible proposal.”

He managed roughly, wiping away stray tears. Aziraphale shook his head and pressed his finger gently against Crowley’s lips.

“Don’t say that. It was perfect.”

“Perfectly ridiculous.”

“Perfectly us, rather. Remember Mafeking? It was 1899, if memory serves. You missed my declaration of love because you were too busy trying not to make your own.”

“And then I broke a glass in Vermont.”

“I got attacked by hell instead of meeting you for Christmas 1989.”

Crowley laughed suddenly, and couldn’t stop until his shoulders were shaking with it.

“You’re right, Angel. This was the only way tonight could have gone, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale giggled, and Crowley couldn’t do anything but beam at the sound.

“Yes, my darling demon. This was the only way it could have gone, and I loved it. I would much, much rather your open, nervous honesty, than the most perfect speech. And although I adore this suite and am greatly looking forward to a long, leisurely night in it with you, you could have easily asked me in a supermarket and it would have been as magical.

“Oh, you must really love me.”

Crowley grinned, getting up and pulling the covers back so they could snuggle up to each other in the huge bed. Looking down at his clothes he paused to miracle himself some black silk pajamas. 

“Am I?”

He said after several blissful minutes of lying with his head burrowed into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, breathing in the scent of roses and snow.

“Are you what, beautiful?”

Aziraphale traced lazy circles on his back with his fingertips, and Crowley’s brain nearly shuddered to a halt at the use of the word beautiful.

“Your darling demon.”

“Darling … I just said yes to marrying you.”

“No, but.”

He twisted so he could look up at Aziraphale, the words tangling in his mouth so that he stammered over them several times.

“Your demon. Darling one.”

Aziraphale frowned at him in confusion.

“Well what else would you be, dear? My darling aardvark?”

It was Crowley’s turn to giggle, but the question still made a ball in his chest, tight and painful.

“You … would you. Love me more. If I was still n’angel.”

Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair back from his face with both hands, and his eyes were more clear and loving than anything else Heaven had ever made.

“If you were still an angel, you wouldn’t be you. Clever, wily, rebellious you who asked enough questions to fall. So no, I would not love you more if you were still an angel. I love you exactly as you are now. My demon.”

“And you really want to marry me? You really just said yes to that?”

Aziraphale kissed him then, and for a moment Crowley was sure he tasted stars.

“Yes, darling. I do.”

“Don’t think we’ve got to that bit yet.”

Crowley grinned.

“Probably better to start rehearsing now though, knowing us.”

Aziraphale retorted. The angel couldn’t stop smiling, Crowley realised. Hadn’t stopped smiling since Crowley had calmed down and stopped crying. And it was because of him. He’d made his angel that happy, by asking to marry him. Overwhelmed, Crowley gave his angel a long, lingering kiss, fingers tangled in star-white hair and lips reading the meaning of his long life in the angel’s soft mouth. Then he nestled his head into the crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder once more, long legs tangling with his, arms tight around his waist as Aziraphale stroked his back and cradled his head tenderly. As he closed his eyes against Armageddon and the world outside, Crowley’s last waking thought was that he would have rushed to fall much quicker, if he’d known it would deliver him into Aziraphale’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Winter Wonderland  
> Song I had on repeat while writing: I Shall Believe (Sheryl Crow)


	17. Edinburgh 2008, the next day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started something angstier but decided they deserved to enjoy their newly betrothed status! So this is really just pure fluff.

**Edinburgh, 2008**

**The next morning**

* * *

Aziraphale could watch Crowley sleep for hours, years even, he decided. Armageddon could come and go and all the world fall away and he would barely notice, so entranced by the sharp line of a cheekbone, the perfect wave of hair blazing against pale skin. He closed his eyes tight and pressed his lips to the demon’s forehead, wrapping him tighter in his arms.

“Betrothed.”

He tried out the word, feeling it in his mouth like a new and surprising red wine. Such a human word, such a human convention, yet that’s what they were to each other now. Betrothed. Promised. He smiled against Crowley’s skin. He liked that. A promise to love him first and foremost, above all others.

A shiver ran through him. If this were to put Crowley in danger …

“Angel?”

“Oh my dear, did I wake you?”

“Well let’s see, you’re holding me tighter than a rare volume of Paradise Lost, so ...”

Aziraphale laughed softly and loosened his grip a bit.

“I’m just … if they were to find out, if they hurt you ...”

“Angel.”

Crowley propped himself up on one elbow, pushing his hair out of his face, yellow eyes squinting in the pale morning light that was peering around the edges of the curtains as if to greet an angel and a demon on the first day of their engagement.

“’m hardly gonna walk into hell and say ‘guess what I did for Christmas!’”

Aziraphale worried at his lip for a few seconds, looking up at Crowley.

“I know you won’t, and I’m hardly going to write it on my next report. Still, one cannot help being concerned.”

Crowley leaned down and kissed the angel softly, fingers light against his cheek. When Aziraphale leaned into it, Crowley slid back down to lie beside him, kissing long and slow, moving close enough that their bodies were pressed together from collar to hip, legs tangled. 

“Crowley!”

Aziraphale laughed, drawing back and playfully nipping at the demon’s finger.

“You can’t just tempt me into not worrying.”

Crowley grinned and rubbed his leg against Aziraphale’s, the silk of their pyjamas sliding easily together.

“Mhm, don’t think we’ve ever slept in quite so little clothing. Can’t blame a demon for enjoying it.”

Aziraphale sighed at that, running his hand down Crowley’s chest, fingers gently exploring the slender shape of it, the hard lines. Crowley watched him carefully, curiously, his eyes full yellow with no whites on display. Aziraphale thought that if he could keep them in that moment, he would, and said so.

“What? Close enough to touch but far enough away to tease? I’m starting to think this abstinence thing of yours is less about not getting caught and more that you’re developing some sort of fetish.”

Crowley responded with a grin, looking so thoroughly delighted with everything that Aziraphale thought he might just weep with joy.

“With you smiling at me like that, and not bothering to hide the natural look of your beautiful eyes, is what I meant.”

He chided gently, and was Crowley blushing? Aziraphale managed, with a great effort of will, not to mention it, but he drank in every detail of Crowley’s slightly amazed expression, tucking it away to keep him warm on all the nights they would surely be apart. The demon leaned their foreheads together, nuzzling gently, and Aziraphale could feel warmth radiating from him. 

“Much as I could stay here all day, Angel, I want to get out and enjoy the city with you before we have to go back to the Dowling’s. Promise not to rush you round it this time.”

Aziraphale laughed.

“My dear fellow, as if I care about that now! Had I known you were going to propose I would have travelled here so swiftly that I arrived before I even left London.”

“Pretty sure you could do that if you tried. Want to go out for a bit, then?”

“You wait here. Order us some breakfast if you’d be so kind. I need to nip out.”

The last thing he heard as he shut the door was Crowley laughing as he shouted to his back “I’m never kind!”

Twenty minutes later he was back in their room, enjoying a delicious breakfast of Eggs Benedict, while Crowley eyed the bag he’d left by the door as if it contained a dinner invitation from Dagon. 

“It’s cold out there.”

He told Crowley as he handed him the bag.

“And although you insist your infernal fire warms you up, I worry.”

Crowley peered into the bag, then drew out an expensive-looking black woollen coat with subtle red threads woven in, and a thick, impossibly soft black scarf with red edging. Next came a pair of supple black leather gloves with red lining. He shrugged into the coat, and stood still so Aziraphale could gently tuck the scarf around his neck.

“Thank you, Angel.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. The warmth in his eyes told Aziraphale that he recognized the gift for what it was – a way to say “I love you and I want to shelter you.” Offering his arm, he steered the angel out onto the Royal Mile. The street was crowded and noisy with Boxing Day shoppers, but the crowds flowed around them like water, and when it reached lunchtime, why, suddenly that cute little bistro they’d spotted had the perfect table come free, right by the window so they could watch the city.

As evening fell, early and cold, they found themselves on a bench in Princes Street Gardens, enjoying the festive atmosphere of the winter fair there. The dusk was bright with hundreds of multi coloured lights in the trees and around the helter skelter and Ferris wheel that had taken up residence there for the festive season. Aziraphale barely noticed any of it, every sense aware of Crowley, only Crowley, holding him close in his arms and kissing him over and over again.

“Wish I could keep you here forever.”

He growled softly against Aziraphale.

“One day you’ll be able to. I believe that.”

Aziraphale drew back for a moment so he could gaze upon that dear face. The smile Crowley gave him was open and trusting, and all Aziraphale could do was wonder at how he came to be so loved. He took Crowley’s hand and slowly, deliberately pressed a kiss to his ring finger, to the space that would one day hold a ring Aziraphale created just for him, eyes never leaving the demon’s. 

“Stay one more night.”

“Two nights together at once? I don’t know Angel, that’s playing pretty fast and loose. Could be dangerous.”

The demon winked.

“Well, we are engaged now. We have to keep things exciting somehow.”

Aziraphale grinned back, the second part of the sentiment muffled as the word “engaged” lit a blaze of emotion in Crowley that could only find expression in a joyful, adoring kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: All Wrapped Up
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: Dear Fellow Traveler (Sea Wolf)


	18. Mayfair, 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Crowley? Are you alright, my love?”
> 
> Ah shit. It must be later than he’d realised. For one wild moment he thought of transforming back into his man-shaped form mid-shed, consequences be blessed, but then Aziraphale was standing in the doorway and Crowley was curling around on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible (not an easy feat for a giant anaconda-sized serpent), face buried among his coils.
> 
> “Darling?”
> 
> Aziraphale sat down on the floor, the lovely scent of cinnamon and violets and something deeper and more ancient, like celestial lightning, drifting from him. Crowley felt his hand, impossibly gentle, on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how sometimes you don't know what to write next, so you accidentally write a semi-romantic (but completely sfw) scene about Aziraphale caring for Snake!Crowley when he's shedding?
> 
> There's nothing nsfw here but they are definitely two beings in love and attracted to each other, even though one of them is currently a giant serpent. If that bothers you, maybe skip this chapter!

**Mayfair, 2013**

* * *

Mayfair, 2013

Crowley sighed and slithered onto the floor. It was a chilly Christmas Eve in Mayfair, and he was in a stupendously bad mood. 

“Stupid body.”

He muttered to himself as he tried to gather the energy to move to the bathroom. It made no sense – he was an immortal being who just happened to be serpent shaped sometimes, so why on earth did his snake-body need to shed? Yet, there it was. Not several times a year like an actual snake, but once every five years or so.

Normally Crowley didn’t mind being snake-formed. It was particularly nice in the summer when he could bask on the rooftop terrace of his Mayfair flat (supernaturally hidden from prying eyes, of course.) Slithering instead of walking (though some would argue he slithered more than he walked at the best of times) was an interesting way to move. His eyesight wasn’t so good in that form, but the enhanced sense of taste/smell made up for it. And unlike ordinary snakes, he still enjoyed music, a good cup of coffee, and a Golden Girls marathon. 

But one thing he never, ever did, was let Aziraphale see him in that form. Of course he had, once, in Eden, but never again. 

“You were a snake.”

He’d said, when Crowley announced his name change. Did he think Crowley had evolved away from being a snake into a man-shaped being? Did he assume Crowley never took that form? The subject had never come up, and every time Crowley wondered whether to bring it up, he decided against it.

There didn’t seem to be a good way to say “hey Angel, you do realise I’m still a serpent, yeah?”

Chances are Aziraphale wouldn’t care. Crowley was slowly coming around to the idea that Aziraphale loved all of him. Enough to accept his somewhat clumsy marriage proposal anyway. The thought made Crowley feel warmer, even as he dragged himself listlessly towards the bathroom. But there was always that doubting voice in his mind. What if Aziraphale found this version of him repulsive? What if it reminded him too strongly of what Crowley really was?

It had been a simple enough plan. Finish the blessed shed a few days before Christmas, then meet Aziraphale at his bookshop for, Crowley hoped, an evening of drinking, talking, and sneaking kiss after kiss after kiss.

1308 (Crowley really didn’t like the fourteenth century) was the last time he’d suffered from an incomplete shed. “You’re not actually a ssssnake” he hissed frustratedly at his coils, wondering why it was impossible to just miracle the stuck patches of skin free. It must be some form of punishment, he supposed. He’d read somewhere that a warm, shallow bath followed by a gentle rub from a damp towel could help, and that’s what he was on his way to do when the door to his apartment clicked open.

“Crowley? Are you alright, my love?”

Ah shit. It must be later than he’d realised. For one wild moment he thought of transforming back into his man-shaped form mid-shed, consequences be blessed, but then Aziraphale was standing in the doorway and Crowley was curling around on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible (not an easy feat for a giant anaconda-sized serpent), face buried among his coils.

“Darling?”

Aziraphale sat down on the floor, the lovely scent of cinnamon and violets and something deeper and more ancient, like celestial lightning, drifting from him. Crowley felt his hand, impossibly gentle, on his back.

“Ssssshedding not going well.”

He muttered, flinching at the strange, undulating quality of his serpent-voice.

“What can I do for you?”

Just like that. No shock, no horror, just a warm voice that was better than any heat lamp. Emboldened, Crowley risked raising his head a little to take a peek at Aziraphale’s face. Crowley sensed rather than saw the deep concern on the angel’s face. As he raised his head, Aziraphale stroked the side of his jaw carefully, a bright smile lighting his own features. 

“Oh there you are! I’ve missed you so darling.”

If Crowley could have blushed at the tremble of relief that went through his body, he would have.

“Missed you too Angel. Just, uh, was just gonna run a bath. To help the shedding.”

He added by way of explanation.

“According to doctor Google I need a warm shallow soak followed by rubbing myself on a damp towel.”

“Could I.”

Aziraphale stopped and looked away.

“That is, of course you might prefer privacy dear fellow! But if you did want the company, I could draw your bath for you and perchance I might help you with the towel? Doing that yourself sounds terribly awkward.”

“Don’t have to do that Angel.”

“But may I? Would you like that?”

Crowley gave a tiny nod, glad that snakes don’t blush. Aziraphale made his way to the bathroom, and seconds later Crowley heard the rush of water filling the tub. The next thing he knew, Aziraphale was scooping him carefully into his arms. Crowley gave a most un-serpentine squeak of surprise, automatically coiling himself around Aziraphale’s shoulders and waist to find the easiest position for both of them. Aziraphale carried him as easily as if he weighed less than a feather, and as carefully as if he was a Fabergé egg. Crowley couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief as the angel lowered him so mindfully into the warm water.  
  
Aziraphale knelt on the floor by the tub, cupping his hands under the water and gently sluicing it over the parts of Crowley that weren’t quite submerged.

“You’re quite magnificent like this, you know.”

He said conversationally, as if they always hung out during Crowley's shedding time.

“Do you transform often?”

Crowley shrugged, which translated into a long shudder through his body, causing water to splash over Aziraphale who gave him a reproachful look before pointedly removing his coat and hanging it on the back of the door. If Crowley was distracted by Aziraphale’s forearms as he rolled up his sleeves – and he was – he hid it well.

“Gotta shed every five years or so. I shift form more often, though. ‘S comfortable sometimes.”

Aziraphale rested his hand gently on Crowley, a few inches below his jaw, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek and press a gentle kiss there. If Crowley had still had eyelids, his eyes would have opened wide in surprise.

“I hope … I hope I can show you that should you ever feel like transforming around me that is quite absolutely fine.”

Crowley huffed out a sigh and sank lower in the water.

“Yeah, real attractive prospect for an angel, I’m sure.”

“Tetchy.”  
  
“It’s a reminder. Of what I am. Damned.”

“Darling, you’re acting as if I don’t know you’re a demon.”

“There’s knowing, Angel, then there’s seeing a giant serpent taking a bath.”

There was a rustle that sounded like a thousand feathers stroking against each other at once and a blinding flash of light. When it subsided, Aziraphale had far more wings and eyes than he’d had previously.

“There. If Lovecraft wrote a novel set in a Mayfair bathroom.”

Crowley was laughing so hard it hurt, failing to stifle his movements, soaking both Aziraphale and the floor.

“Oh good Lord, Crowley. Let’s deal with those unshed parts so I can get changed and make us both some nice cocoa … do you still drink cocoa, in this form?”

“Yup.”

Shaking his head fondly, Aziraphale folded his wings back in and let the other eyes and flaming geometric shapes fade back into the ether as he lifted Crowley from the bath and put him down on several large damp towels. As he rubbed them slowly and carefully over the serpent’s body, Crowley couldn’t keep from smiling. He’d expected it to be awkward. He’d anticipated tense, painful discussions, agonising over the ins and outs of the situation. But instead it felt natural, comfortable, and so warm and easy. He was Aziraphale’s and Aziraphale was his. Aziraphale loved him exactly as he was. 

“Now, dear boy, might I miracle up a couch, just for tonight? You can banish it to the seventh circle of hell in the morning if you like.”

“Sure, Angel. Anything you want.”

“You rest then, dear. It seems like you’ve had an exhausting time of it. I shall return anon.”

Twenty minutes later Crowley, who’d dozed off, was awoken by Aziraphale scooping up his dry, and now completely smooth, new form, and carrying him into … was this still Crowley’s flat? A large plush red velvet sofa was perched easily beside a roaring fireplace, and nexxt to that stood a tall green tree bedecked in red and gold. A carved wooden table - and was that a snake carved around the leg, and were those wings wrapped around the top - held two sturdy white mugs.

“I’m so sorry.”

Aziraphale said hurriedly.

“You seemed so cold when I first arrived and your new skin looks so delicate, and everything was marble and hard edges and I thought, what if you bump into something? Or can’t get warm enough? Which I realise now is quite ridiculous because you have been living here and shedding your skin for years now.”

“Ssssssh, Angel. I love it. You’re so thoughtful.”

Crowley didn’t have to see Aziraphale’s face at that moment to sense his joyful smile. Aziraphale was clad in soft plaid pyjamas that felt comfortingly soft against Crowley's still-tender skin. As the angel settled them both onto the sofa under a pile of feather-soft blankets that put no pressure on Crowley yet kept him the perfect temperature, the demon thought that this was quite possibly the most perfect place to spend Christmas.

“Angel?”

He tilted his face up to Aziraphale, wanting to look in his eyes even if everything was a little indistinct. The angel gave a distracted hum, tracing his fingers gently over Crowley’s scales.

“Is thissssss … this … really alright? Me like this? We’re still us, yes?”

“Who else would we be, dear boy? Honestly. You are the serpent of Eden, after all. I do realise that’s who I’m marrying.”

Delighted at the way the angel said his title as if it was the most beautiful phrase under the stars, Crowley snuggled closer, letting himself wrap around Aziraphale and rest trustingly against him. The last thing he knew as he drifted into sleep was the comforting warmth of his angel holding him close, stroking and kissing his scales, and whispering words of love and admiration to him. Snow drifted lazily from the sky, blanketing Mayfair in stillness, as the serpent of Eden and the guardian of the Eastern gate dozed quietly in their own perfect paradise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hot cocoa 
> 
> Song I had on repeat while writing this: Warrior (Beth Crowely - I couldn't make this up!!)


	19. Edinburgh, 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gave him the softest smile.
> 
> “No one is listening.”
> 
> “No, I suppose they’re not. Well then, if things don’t pan out as we anticipate then tonight’s pretence will be the only time I get to call you my husband.”
> 
> “Marry me, then.”
> 
> “Crowley, I ...”
> 
> “We’ll do it any way you want. Legal. Or our own thing. I’ll stand in a church for you if you want it. We don’t have to do anything that might attract attention from upstairs, or down.”
> 
> His hands were on Aziraphale’s face then, and somehow his sunglasses had vanished, leaving his stardust-yellow eyes gazing into Aziraphale’s with unfettered longing.
> 
> “We’ll do whatever it takes for you to feel safe. Please. Angel, please, I can’t … I can’t bear this any more, not when we might be so close to the end. I need to be with you. Not anything you don’t feel ready to give, I swear.”
> 
> He stopped for a moment, kissing the back of Aziraphale’s hand over and over, holding it in both of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that although Crowley wears their Nanny Astoreth appearance for some of this, Aziraphale uses male pronouns for them throughout.

**Edinburgh, 2018**

* * *

Aziraphale had been hesitant when Crowley invited him to the Dowling’s country retreat the Christmas before Armageddon was due to begin. He absolutely intended to spend that Christmas with Crowley. He was hoping they might be able to spend a couple of nights together, as they had the year Crowley asked for his hand in marriage. 

He absolutely did not intend to spend what might be his last Christmas on earth with the demon-child who was to bring about the end, and his insufferable family.

“Why, Crowley?”

He’d asked over the telephone.

“Neither of us has worked for the Dowlings since the boy turned seven.”

There was a long silence. Aziraphale knew if they were in the same room, Crowley would be staring at the floor or table, not meeting his eyes, face drawn with stress in that way that made him long to help.

“They … they asked me. I still check in occasionally, to see if the boy is still acting normal. Harriet is taking the family up to Scotland for Christmas and the New Year. We can stay nearby, not with them. We only have to drop in for an hour or two.”

Aziraphale was baffled. He wanted to know why on earth Crowley would want to do this thing. But then, Crowley had always seemed quite attached to Warlock, moreso than Aziraphale himself. Still, whether he understood or not, this was something Crowley wanted that was most easy to grant, and so he said yes.

He took the train to Edinburgh. He quite liked travelling by train, truth be told, so long as he got a quiet carriage with no immediate neighbours (and somehow, it always worked out that way.) He brought an entire case of books with him, but in the end found himself leaning his head on the window and losing himself in thoughts of what the following year would bring. By the time the train stopped at Waverly Station, his head ached with the stress of it. A thousand questions rose up, and he could answer none of them satisfactorily.

He alighted to find Crowley waiting on the platform, carrying a bunch of the most beautiful bloodred roses Aziraphale had ever seen. 

“Angel.”

Then he was in Crowley’s arms and everything felt warm and safe and perfect. And if he tasted the salt of Crowley’s tears against his lips while they kissed, well, neither of them would mention it.

“So this is it, Angel. Our last Christmas before the big one.”

Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s lapels. He was wearing the coat and scarf he’d given him the morning after they made their commitment to each other.

“C’mon. I booked us The Library again. Figured if we’ve got to go, then go with style. Let’s go and drink an unholy – unhellish? - amount of Whisky before we drop in on the Dowlings.”

* * *

“I told them you’re my husband.”

Crowley said casually as they walked up the sweeping driveway to the Scottish Baronial style mansion after parking the Bentley.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to come in disguise and I needed an explanation for why I'm bringing a man they’ve apparently never met.”

When Aziraphale couldn’t quite answer, Crowley stopped walking to look down at him.

“That ok, Angel?”

The tension in his voice was strung tight to snapping point. Aziraphale longed to comfort him but so much pain and joy and wonder were battling for supremacy, that he was quite speechless. Unable to tell his feelings in words, he did the only thing he could think of, pulling Crowley down and kissing him lovingly, as if he could transfer his feelings that way.

“What is it?”

Crowley murmured against him, sensing the way his hands suddenly tightened against the demon’s sides, the slight shiver that ran through him.

“If something were to go wrong, Crowley. If this doesn’t work.”

“It’ll work, Angel.”

“But if it doesn’t. You’ll … that is to say, we’ll not … we won’t.”

Crowley gave him the softest smile.

“No one is listening.”

“No, I suppose they’re not. Well then, if things don’t pan out as we anticipate then tonight’s pretence will be the only time I get to call you my husband.”

“Marry me, then.”

“Crowley, I ...”

“We’ll do it any way you want. Legal. Or our own thing. I’ll stand in a church for you if you want it. We don’t have to do anything that might attract attention from upstairs, or down.”

His hands were on Aziraphale’s face then, and somehow his sunglasses had vanished, leaving his stardust-yellow eyes gazing into Aziraphale’s with unfettered longing.

“We’ll do whatever it takes for you to feel safe. Please. Angel, please, I can’t … I can’t bear this any more, not when we might be so close to the end. I need to be with you. I won't ask for anything you don’t feel ready to give, I swear.”

He stopped for a moment, clasping Aziraphale's hand between both his own, and kissing the back of it over and over.

“Yes.”

Crowley froze, looking up at him.

“Yes?”

“Yes. I will marry you tonight. Now, let’s do our duty as guests first, for lord knows I need something mundane and dare I say boring to settle my mind for a moment. I … oh, Crowley.”

“One last thing before we go in. Been carrying this about for a while, never seemed the right moment though.”

Crowley turned Aziraphale’s hand over, pressing something into his palm and closing his fingers around it. Aziraphale opened them to find a silver ring resting in his hand. It had a black pearl set next to a white one, with a snake on the band next to the white pearl, and a feather on the band next to the black. 

“It’s beautiful.”

He said in quiet awe.

“I didn’t make one for you yet ...”

“Don’t care about that.”

Crowley kissed his cheek gently, rubbing his back.

“C’mon. Let’s do what we came here to do.”

Nodding, Aziraphale looped his arm through Crowley’s and they walked together up the sweep of the path to the huge oak double doors.

* * *

On any ordinary night, Aziraphale might have thought the evening with the Dowlings was nowhere near as dreadful as he’d expected. Thaddeus was as fatuous as ever, but Harriet was quite sparkling company once she’d had a drink or two and let herself relax a little. Warlock was, well, he was Warlock. He was the antichrist, after all. One might reasonably expect him to try and spike the mulled wine with pickle juice, and not-so-subtly move the candles closer to the tree in hopes of setting a conflagration. On the other hand, he served cinnamon-spiced shortbread to everyone with good grace, and rested peacefully on Crowley’s lap to listen to his mother reading How The Grinch Stole Christmas.

As it was, every moment felt like time had forgotten the speed at which it was supposed to move. Nothing could hold his attention apart from Crowley. When Harriet asked him a question, he had to ask her to repeat it thrice, which seemed unpardonably rude, but his mind was determined not to take in the information.

“What was your wedding like?”

How did she … no, wait. He was Nanny Ashtoreth’s fictional husband right now, wasn’t he?

“It was very small and simple. Just the two of us and a registrar. We had it here in Edinburgh, actually, in one of the caverns beneath the South Bridge.”

“Very intimate.”

Harriet smiled.

“Very. It felt right, being hidden from the world, just the two of us.”

The conversation moved on then, but Aziraphale saw the way Crowley kept glancing at him and smiling, the secret ghost of a smile.

As the evening wound down, Harriet sat at the piano, and the three Dowlings took turns singing Christmas carols. It was quite atmospheric really, with the candles glimmering around the room, and the magnificent tree sparkling with gold and silver decorations.

“Will you sing a carol, nanny?”

Aziraphale saw the sudden tension in Crowley’s shoulders and expected a flippant excuse. But he was looking down at the boy with, Aziraphale realized with shock, real love. 

“Of course, dear.”

Aziraphale had only seconds to try and process the fact that Crowley loved the boy who would destroy all. Add to that the fact that he was being asked to sing a song of praise, and Aziraphale wondered if he should miracle them both out of there. But then Crowley opened his mouth, and the angel was rendered quite useless. He’d never heard Crowley sing before. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it most certainly was not the flawless voice that emerged. It had all the beauty heaven purported to have but lacked, coupled with a rich, smoky tone that could have tempted a saint. It wasn't a voice made for mortal ears to bear, and he wondered that the Dowlings didn't simply combust. 

Every note seemed perfectly pitched to find its home in Aziraphale’s body, raising butterflies and sending chills down his spine, even as it felt like his heart was opening to a holier light than he’d ever known. Crowley’s hair, miracled long for the night, tumbled round his shoulders, while the elegant drape of his long black dress reminded the angel of nothing so much as a robe. As his husband-to-be hit a note of exquisite clarity, Aziraphale could have sworn he saw stars behind Crowley’s shoulders, casting unearthly light on his red hair. For a second he saw how he must have looked as an angel, new-made, hanging the stars in the sky.

As the last note faded, Crowley seemed to remember where he was, turning to Aziraphale with a slightly shocked expression, his face wet with tears. Aziraphale sprung into action, bidding the Downlings a warm and very firm farewell, yes we must do this again, no we really must be getting on. A quick miracle and they were alone on the drive outside, standing by the Bentley. Crowley gave him a helpless look that hurt as much as if he’d thrown hellfire at him. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon’s shoulders, pulling him down into his embrace. Crowley was eerily still, arms banded tightly around the angel’s waist, forehead resting on his shoulder. Aziraphale rubbed his back gently.

“You’re mine.”

He said simply.

“And you will never be lovelier to me than you are now. Exactly as you are now. No angel could compare, not even the one you used to be.”

“Sure, Angel. Like I’m gonna believe that.”

But he relaxed after that, cuddling close and trusting as Aziraphale held him. Eventually he broke their embrace with a quick smile, opening the Bentley door.

“Get in, Angel. Time to find your something borrowed and something blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Carols
> 
> Song(s) I had on repeat while writing this: O Holy Night (Il Divo) and Better Than I Know Myself (Adam Lambert)


	20. Edinburgh, later that night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the words. That was the problem. You had to say things when you got married. 
> 
> The drive back to The Witchery had been surprisingly quiet. They’d spoken briefly, to discuss whether to have a celebrant. They’d settled on no, or as Aziraphale had put it “I really would be damned before I’d let another living soul intrude upon this, dear boy” (which had made Crowley smile the rest of the way back.)
> 
> They hadn’t talked about where. Or how. It didn’t seem to matter. They’d figure it out, they agreed.
> 
> Then they’d been back in the room, and Crowley had Aziraphale pinned against the door, kissing him gently but insistently, holding him as if by clutching him as close as possible he could somehow meld their metaphysical essences so that neither heaven nor hell could separate them.
> 
> And nothing else mattered.
> 
> Until now. Shit. Crowley paced around the opulent room, trying to shake some decently eloquent words loose from his brain.

**Edinburgh, later that night**

* * *

“Dearest, I know we're not on a fixed schedule, but I’m starting to think you’ve changed your mind.”

“In a minute Angel, I promise.”

Crowley leaned against the door of the bathroom, where he’d been for the last twenty minutes, on the pretext of fixing his hair. Aziraphale seemed to understand that he needed a moment alone – Aziraphale likely needed one too – but Crowley was starting to think he might panic himself into discorporation at this rate. 

It was the words. That was the problem. You had to say things when you got married. 

The drive back to The Witchery had been surprisingly quiet. They’d spoken briefly, to discuss whether to have a celebrant. They’d settled on no, or as Aziraphale had put it “I really would be damned before I’d let another living soul intrude upon this, dear boy” (which had made Crowley smile the rest of the way back.)

They hadn’t talked about where. Or how. It didn’t seem to matter. They’d figure it out, they agreed.

Then they’d been back in the room, and Crowley had Aziraphale pinned against the door, kissing him gently but insistently, holding him as if by clutching him as close as possible he could somehow meld their metaphysical essences so that neither heaven nor hell could separate them.

And nothing else mattered.

Until now. Shit. Crowley paced around the opulent room, trying to shake some decently eloquent words loose from his brain. Vows. He had to have vows ready to say. Crowley knew his way around the English language and several more besides (including one he was fairly certain had become the language of Mordor, after he'd accidentally stumbled in to a meeting of the Inklings), yet suddenly it felt as if he was about to take an oral test in a language he’d never spoken before.

“Crowley, darling ...”

Aziraphale sounded worried. Desperate to avert that, Crowley flung the bathroom door open, then realised his error when Aziraphale took one look at his face and gently took his elbow and led him to the bed as if he were an invalid.

“My dear boy, what is it? If now isn’t the right time, I do understand.”

The earnest look he gave Crowley made something small and fragile bloom in his chest. _He loves me_ , he thought, lost. He already knew that, but something in Aziraphale’s eyes moved that knowledge from Crowley’s mind down into his heart, where it took root and left him with a pounding heart and hands that trembled so much he had to knot his fingers together to keep it from showing.

“I don’t know what to say. For the vows.”

“Oh. Well, nor do I, now you come to mention it.”

“Not like I haven’t thought about it. Rehearsed a thousand times in my head, Angel. Problem is, each time was different, so I can’t … decide.”

Aziraphale was beaming now, that smile that made Crowley certain actual light was radiating from the angel.

“You thought about it.”

“Well, yeah.”

“You rehearsed what you would say at our wedding.”

“Yeah, Angel.”

Aziraphale cupped his cheek, his palm warm.

“Recite a Queen lyric at me for all I care, Crowley. All I need to hear you say is that you’re mine, now.”

“Was always that.”

Crowley muttered, but he was feeling better. Aziraphale smiled encouragingly, his fingers gently tracing Crowley’s cheekbone.

“I made something for you while I was waiting. I had always thought I’d design something and have it made for you the old fashioned way if this day came, but I suppose in this instance bringing it out of raw firmament does lend a personal touch ...”

He took Crowley’s hand and placed a ring in it. The band was black and simple, set with tiny gems in blue, yellow, red and white, like stars. As Crowley watched, they shimmered, changing colour as the black band shifted to deepest midnight blue, through purple, and then black again. It looked for all the world as if Aziraphale had captured a sliver of night sky and made it into a ring. Crowley was speechless.

“We should swap.”

He said when he could finally talk.

“So we can give them to each other.”

Aziraphale nodded agreement, gently tucking the ring back into his pocket, and offering Crowley his own ring. 

“What should we wear?”

Aziraphale asked.

“You thought about it.”

Crowley replied in a non sequitur that was prize winning even by his standards.

“Beg pardon, dear fellow?”

“Having a ring designed for me. You thought about it. You thought about us getting married.”

“Yes, darling, frequently. It is a lovely tradition, after all, and I wanted to share it with you. Now … what should we wear?”

Crowley smiled uncertainly.

“I did have an idea … but you might not like it.”

A quarter of an hour later, they were standing in the caverns underneath the South Bridge. It was the wee hours of the morning, and the staff and patrons of the strange, elegant underground venue had long since gone home. Crowley had never been in the caverns before, but something told him they didn’t normally have quite this many delicate strings of lights, or fragrant bouquets of roses, lilies, and carnations, adorned with sprigs of lavender and black and white ribbons.

“Is this ok? Did I decorate it right?”

Aziraphale asked, and for the first time Crowley heard a note of uncertainty in his voice. 

“Perfect. As soon as I heard you mention this place to Harriet, I knew it had to be here, and I love what you've done. That you’d visualized where we’d get married did things to me, Angel.”

His grin pulled an answering laugh from Aziraphale.

“And our outfits?”

Crowley asked.

“Weird idea, or stroke of genius?”

Aziraphale leaned up and kissed him by way of answer. When Crowley told him he wanted them to wear the robes they’d worn in Eden, so they could look as they did the first time they met, Aziraphale had got rather teary and taken himself for a short walk. When he returned he’d told Crowley it was the most perfect idea, but to make it authentic Crowley would need to let his hair grow out into carnelian-toned waves once more. He gladly obliged.

“There’s only one issue with our outfits, dear. I believe in Eden your eyes were not so human.”

When Crowley glanced at the floor, Aziraphale leaned up and kissed him again.

“This modern look of yours is quite delightful, and I do so enjoy watching you change throughout the ages, but if I am to look on you as you were when first I saw you, then I would have the full experience.”

As if Crowley could deny the angel anything. Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t leave his as he let the gold bleed out to the edges, and his breath caught at the way the angel smiled at the sight.

“So.” Crowley nudged the angel playfully with his shoulder. “What do we … actually do?”

He was expecting some deliberation, or perhaps a little teasing remark. He wasn’t expecting Aziraphale to seize both of Crowley’s hands in his own, and look up at him as if he was the most sacred thing Aziraphale had ever seen.

“I believe it’s customary to speak one’s heart, something at which I don’t always excel.”

He paused then to kiss each of Crowley’s hands in turn, his fingers entwining and holding them gently, and Crowley could have sworn he left tiny trails of golden light on his skin.

“Crowley.”

The air shivered with angelic power and suddenly Crowley remembered what grace felt like, but this grace was all for him, and could never hurt him.

“You are the only thing in this universe I was created to worship. You are so precious to me. If this goes wrong, I want you to know loving you has been the most extraordinary experience of my life.”

He leaned up and pressed a solemn kiss to the demon’s lips. It was several minutes before Crowley could speak. When he made to open his mouth, however, Aziraphale placed a finger on his lips.

“I know you felt my power unleashed before my vows. I don’t feel you doing likewise.”

“Bit different, Angel. Your power is light and divine fire. Mine’s … from hell.”

“It’s from you. And I want all of you.”

Crowley felt like he was stepping off a cliff into a dark void that might contain the softest feather pillows, or a pit of spikes, but the honesty and faith in the angel’s light blue eyes decided him. With a shaky breath, he let something of his infernal power unfurl into the room, and was rewarded with a slight but unmistakeable gasp of pleasure. Emboldened, he drew Aziraphale’s hands to his mouth and pressed a loving kiss to each palm.

“Aziraphale. Angel. You draw me in like gravity and I can’t do anything but be in orbit around you. I don’t ever want to be anywhere else.”

He kissed the angel gently, smiling when he felt Aziraphale’s arms wrap around his shoulders and felt rather than heard the laugh of delight against him.

“Aren’t we forgetting something?”

“Are we?”

Crowley frowned in confusion, then spotted the ring in the angel’s hand and laughed too.

“I suppose we are.”

He retrieved Aziraphale’s ring from within his robes, then took the angel’s hand in his and slowly slid it onto his finger.

“Do you, Angel who’s not supposed to fraternise, take this demon to be your unlawfully wedded husband?”

Aziraphale laughed and swatted his arm with his free hand, but his eyes were bright with tears as he took Crowley’s hand in his own, and slipped the ring onto his finger.

“I do. And do you, demon who really just sauntered vaguely downwards, take this angel to be your unlawfully wedded husband?”

Crowley grinned and kissed him joyously, whispering “I do” against his lips. Aziraphale wrapped his arms tighter around him, as if he couldn’t bear to have even a whisper of space between them, as two wandering stars remembered their place in the cosmos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Naughty and nice.
> 
> Song I had on repeat: I Will Find You (Clannad)
> 
> I will add this as a proper footnote eventually, but for now: The Inklings was a literary discussion group associated with the University of Oxford. Among its members, mostly academics at the university, were J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, Owen Barfield, Charles Williams, Hugo Dyson, Robert Havard, Nevill Coghill, John Wain, and Warren "Warnie" Lewis (C. S. Lewis's older brother). It met from the middle of the 1930s until the late 1940s. 
> 
> )Also, oh my LORD I was so nervous about writing this I actually took a day off before tackling it. I got to the end of the last chapter and thought "oh shit now I'm writing their wedding and how am I going to do THAT???!!!!"
> 
> I put all my love for these precious boys into it though, and I hope you like it <3)


	21. A place out of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He took Crowley’s hand and gently pressed it to his chest, where Crowley could feel his heart pounding as if trying to communicate in frantic Morse code. Crowley leaned down and pressed a long, loving kiss to the angel’s heart, over his robe. He felt a slight shiver go through him, then Aziraphale was in his arms, holding him as close as possible, stroking his back, mapping out the curve of each shoulder, and whispering to him how very much he loved him, how being married to him was lovelier than every symphony and every old book in the world.
> 
> “Oh, you must really love me.”
> 
> Crowley teased, pulling back the covers, and miracling them both into pyjamas. He lifted Aziraphale in his arms, laying him back against the pillows and lying beside him, propped up on one elbow to gaze at him, when he wasn’t leaning down to savour willing kisses from the angel’s lips. Aziraphale kissed him slowly, tongue tracing his lower lip as his hands roamed over every inch of Crowley’s back. When Crowleys’ hand ghosted down Aziraphale’s side to rest on his hip, the angel sighed contentedly and drew back so he could smile up at the demon.

**Edinburgh, 2018**

* * *

They stepped out into the midwinter dark of the sleeping city. It was 3:00 AM, and aside from a smattering of cars and very late revellers, the streets were deserted. Crowley looked up at the stars glittering over the ancient rooftops.

“Thinking about when you made them?”

Aziraphale asked gently, squeezing his hand. Crowley shook his head.

“Nah. Thinking how up among them was the only place I truly felt at home, till now.”

He smiled down at Aziraphale and was rewarded with a look of such love that he had to grip the angel’s hand tighter to keep him anchored and upright. Aziraphale was gazing at him like he couldn’t quite believe he was real, and Crowley was overwhelmed with it. He wasn’t entirely certain whether he wanted to kiss Aziraphale, laugh, cry, run down the street whooping, sleep for a decade till his emotions caught up with themselves, or some combination of all the above. The angel tugged his hand into the crook of his elbow and steered them back towards The Witchery. 

It was a meandering journey, stopping here and there to admire the gothic sandstone buildings, talking about the history of the city, and its vibrant, creative vibe with just enough of a dark undercurrent to be interesting. 

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley ventured as they strolled down The Royal Mile.

“It’s not that ...”

“You don’t want to talk about our wedding, or what happens next, or what the future might hold. It’s simply a lot to process, so it’s easier to talk about everyday things.”

Crowley tried not to look surprised, and failed.

“Ah, you see I am learning the ancient language of Crowley. I am just rather a slow study sometimes.”

Aziraphale leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, smiling against him. 

“Of all the Christmases we’ve had together, this one is my favourite.”

Crowley laughed, leaning closer into the angel as they walked.

“Better than the mistletoe incident?”

“That was embarrassing! Although, I did learn that you would want to kill anyone I kissed, so I suppose it wasn’t without merit.”

“Hm. Better than the New York cinema date?”

Aziraphale beamed at him.

“Oh dear boy, that was one of the most magical nights of my life. But no, it does not compare to this.”

Crowley leaned down and whispered teasingly in his ear.

“Even better than the masked ball?”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. 

“My dear fellow, I still daren’t think of that night for too long lest I discorporate.”

Crowley grinned at that, nipping Aziraphale’s earlobe gently.

“I like that.”

Aziraphale shivered and laughed.

“Come on. I want to be back in our room so I can hold you and wonder how I came to have such good fortune.”

They walked the rest of the way hand in hand, two souls newly joined under the pale moonlight.

Crowley couldn’t repress a smile as they entered their room, and he spotted the champagne, glasses, and delicate lemon chiffon cake that absolutely hadn’t been there when they left.

“It’s not a wedding without champagne and cake, at least not in these modern times.”

Aziraphale informed him, pouring them each a glass. Crowley took it gratefully, glad of a distraction from the near-irrepressible urge to push Aziraphale against the wall and kiss him until he forgot everything except Crowley. 

“I know.”

The angel said softly, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed. Crowley gave him a quizzical look.

“I want you too, dear boy. I cannot put you at such risk, though. I’ve known since Mesopotamia that were I to truly let go my inhibitions around you, I would be changed forever. The thought that they might realise, that I might not be able to keep you hidden, keep you safe …”

“I know.”

Crowley set aside his champagne flute and scooted closer to the angel, stroking his hair back softly.

“Angel, I wasn’t expecting a traditional human wedding night.”

Aziraphale smiled a bit at that, but it was that uncertain smile that refused to reach his eyes, and Crowley’s heart froze in panic, then started beating rapid-fire. Aziraphale looked down, studying the counterpane as if it was an ancient text and their lives depending on him deciphering it.

Crowley nuzzled his cheek gently with his nose.

“What is it?”

“What if I’m getting this all wrong? What if it wouldn’t change me – at least in that way? What if I’m just denying us both the chance to be together because I’m a nervous old thing?”

“Mhm, but you’re my nervous old thing.”

Aziraphale giggled at that, and Crowley felt some of the tension flow out of the angel’s body. Smiling, he tucked his fingers under his new husband’s chin and tilted his beautiful, kind face up so he could look in his eyes.

“Seriously, angel. I don’t care. Do I want to tear your robe off right now? Oh, of course.”

He winked, and Aziraphale grinned in response.

“Do I need to? No. Am I upset that sex isn’t on the cards right now? No, baby. I want YOU. And I have you.”

Aziraphale was watching him carefully, frost-blue eyes searching his. Crowley smiled reassuringly.

“You called me baby.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him softly.

“I did wonder, at first, if we might just spend a decently long time kissing and holding each other, but frankly that felt like teasing you.”

“Satan’s sake angel, if you don’t know by now that I want to be near you in any and every way you’ll have me, then you don’t know me very well at all.”

Aziraphale laughed again, a real laugh this time. The kind that made Crowley feel the sun had just come out from behind the clouds and warmed every pore.

“We’re married, Crowley. My heart is still racing.”

He took Crowley’s hand and gently pressed it to his chest, where Crowley could feel his heart pounding as if trying to communicate in frantic Morse code. Crowley leaned down and pressed a long, loving kiss to the angel’s heart, over his robe. He felt a slight shiver go through him, then Aziraphale was in his arms, holding him as close as possible, stroking his back, mapping out the curve of each shoulder, and whispering to him how very much he loved him, how being married to him was lovelier than every symphony and every old book in the world.

“Oh, you must really love me.”

Crowley teased, pulling back the covers, and miracling them both into pyjamas. He lifted Aziraphale in his arms, laying him back against the pillows and lying beside him, propped up on one elbow to gaze at him, when he wasn’t leaning down to savour willing kisses from the angel’s lips. Aziraphale kissed him slowly, tongue tracing his lower lip as his hands roamed over every inch of Crowley’s back. When Crowleys’ hand ghosted down Aziraphale’s side to rest on his hip, the angel sighed contentedly and drew back so he could smile up at the demon.

Crowley smiled back, his fingers sliding under the angel’s white silk pyjama shirt to gently stroke the soft skin of his belly. Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they were bright with joy.

“This is perfect.”

Crowley hummed agreement, bending his head to gently kiss Aziraphale’s collarbone. The angel’s fingers came up to stroke his hair gently, tugging the long red waves.

“Will you miss it, when I make it short again tomorrow?”

“No, darling. Every time you change your hair, that’s my new favourite.”

Crowley smiled, gently nibbling along his collar. When he looked up, the blissful expression on Aziraphale’s face made his insides feel like melted butter. Hell’s sake, he loved the angel so deeply. Aziraphale absent-mindedly plucked at the collar of his black silk pyjamas, snuggling closer. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Angel, I’m happier than I knew it was possible to be.”

Time went fuzzy around the edges then, as Crowley plastered himself to Aziraphale’s side, one leg and arm flung comfortably over the angel, and his head nestled comfortably into the crook of his shoulder while Aziraphale’s fingers played delicately down the ridges of his spine and back up. 

“Could I just.”

Crowley bit off the words quickly. Bless being so relaxed, he’d meant to keep the next thought to himself.

“What, darling? You can ask me.”

Crowley laughed self consciously.

“Could I, um. See you, angel.”

He gestured vaguely at Aziraphale’s pyjamas.

“Oh!”

The angel brightened and snapped his fingers, leaving them both naked. 

“Crowley, if I’d known you wanted to look at me, I shouldn’t have bothered wearing clothes to most of our festive soirees, save perhaps the ones where we went out in public.”

Crowley laughed delightedly and kissed him softly, then drew back to gaze in wonder, shaking his head slightly.

“You’re so beautiful, Aziraphale.”

The angel beamed at him.

“As are you. The reality exceeds my wildest dreams, and they were plenty wild, let me assure you.”

They both laughed then, snuggling closer together. A full body shiver ran through Crowley at the feel of Aziraphale so close to him, his skin warm everywhere their bodies met, his hands caressing and treasuring Crowley’s body. He felt an answering shiver go through Aziraphale as the angel shifted their position so they were lying side by side, legs tangled together, so close that Crowley could feel every breath, every tiny shift in position. Every heartbeat. He buried his face against the angel’s shoulder, muffling a low groan.

“I know, Crowley.”

Aziraphale kissed the corner of his jaw.

“It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. Forget Heaven finding out, I’m a little concerned I might just discorporate from touching so much of you at once.”

“Mhm. It’s perfect, though. C’mere.”

Crowley unfurled his wings, wrapping them around the angel and using them to pull him as close as possible, blanketing him in soft black feathers and hiding them both from the world. Aziraphale pressed several kisses to his feathers, wriggling into their embrace and giving a deeply contented sigh. Crowley slipped his hands around the angel’s waist. It felt like they were made to mould to each other, tingles of sensation lighting up his whole body as their breathing fell into perfect harmony. Aziraphale clearly felt it too, nuzzling into Crowley’s neck, pliant and relaxed against the demon, his peace disturbed only by the occasional catch of breath when Crowley changed position, causing their bodies to shift and resettle against each other anew.

“I was thinking we might spend two nights, as we did when you proposed.”

Crowley pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder, wings rubbing his back softly.

“Yes. And let’s spend them right here.”

Aziraphale looked up at him then and smiled, but Crowley saw the shadow of fear chasing the joy in his eyes, and his heart was sick with it.

“Crowley, what if this is our last …..? If I only get to call you my husband for weeks or months before ….”

Crowley’s wings tightened automatically as if he could keep the angel safe that way, and when he spoke he heard the catch in his own throat.

“Then let’s forget everything else. If this might be the last time I get to hold you like this, ‘m not gonna waste a second of it thinking about anything else but you.”

Aziraphale spread his fingers against Crowley’s cheek, looking at him as if he wanted to remember every tiny detail of his face at that moment.

“My demon. I love you.”

“Quite right, too.”

Crowley smiled and kissed him, whispering “and I, you, always” as they settled against one another and Aziraphale opened his wings too, black and white feathers mingling as they shielded each other from a future that might or might not belong to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ghosts of Christmas Past  
> Song I had on repeat while writing: I Found (Amber Run)
> 
> I changed up the alternating viewpoints and made this one Crowley again, simply because I'd meant to write it all as one chapter but ran out of time! So this is really part two o f the last one.
> 
> I'm hoping to post another chapter tonight so I'm almost caught up, but with Christmas that might not happen! I'm aiming to have all prompts finished by New Year's Eve, though :)


	22. Edinburgh, the next day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing his eyes, he nudged Crowley into thinking and feeling everything Aziraphale had felt on that night: The urge to kiss him that had been so overwhelming he couldn’t but act on it, and the awe as he gazed up at Crowley’s long cherry hair and flame-yellow eyes and wondered just how it was that one person could be so beautiful. The way he couldn’t stop staring at Crowley’s mouth, how his heart quickened with every touch, and the irrepressible shivers of pleasure that left him breathless and adrift with Crowley as his only harbour. And beyond all of that, the sense of utter safety, of home, as if he’d been created to fit against Crowley, to hold him, to pour love upon him until time was no more. He felt Crowley’s breathing grow ragged, matching the helpless gasps and shudders Aziraphale remembered from that night until they were holding on to each other, breathing hard as they kissed again and again, both of them lost in Aziraphale’s memory. It was as if the thoughts he was giving Crowley were a map, and Crowley was following it to learn Aziraphale’s love for him from the inside out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for making Crowley sad! But there is love and fluff mixed through too. I have joyful (and possibly hot - we'll see how brave I'm feeling!) fluff planned for two of the three remaining prompts, though tomorrow will be the angst of this chapter revisited, just an hour later and told from Crowley's perspective, I'm afraid.)

Edinburgh, the next morning

* * *

The night outside was quiet, aside from the occasional purr of a car. Aziraphale lay staring into the darkness, both arms and wings still around Crowley, his stomach clenching into a billion tiny knots as he wondered frantically if there was any way at all to stave off the dawn. Crowley woke with a start, grabbing Aziraphale’s upper arms as if he needed to save the angel from a dire threat. Aziraphale shushed him gently, stroking his hair back with both hands and kissing his forehead.

“How long was I asleep?”

He demanded.

“Not long, my dear. Two or three hours. It’s not yet dawn.”

“Why did you let me sleep?!”

He tightened his grip, holding tight enough to bruise. Aziraphale was lost.

“You seemed tired, my dear. You often nap a little when we spend the night together ...”

“Not tonight.”

Crowley closed the centimetre or so of distance between them and wrapped his arms and legs around Aziraphale, burying his face against his shoulder. He was tense for a few seconds, muscles in his shoulders bunched and hands gripping Aziraphale’s back tight. Then the storm broke, great hitching sobs forcing themselves from his chest as he clung to the angel. Aziraphale wrapped his wings around him even closer, rocking him gently, feeling tears slide down his own face as he felt every cry as if it was his own.

“I can’t.”

Crowley started, but couldn’t seem to finish. Aziraphale kissed his temple softly and kept his wings tight around him, both hands stroking his hair and back as soothingly as he could. By the time the demon spoke again, the sky outside was streaked with early light, and his voice was hoarse from crying.

“Don’t know how to get up and walk out of here knowing if it all goes wrong, I might not, we might not.”

He gave a shuddering sigh that felt like knives against Aziraphale’s sternum.

“How’m I supposed to go back to work like nothing happened? I’m in love with you, and I’m just supposed to be ok with knowing I might never get a normal life with you? Never be able to touch you or kiss you whenever I want?”

Aziraphale found that words had chosen that moment for an unplanned absence, and could only respond by wrapping both arms around Crowley and pressing his forehead to the demon’s shoulder, as tears slid down his face. They held each other, crying quietly together until the light around the edges of the curtains took on the snow-pale translucent quality of a Scottish dawn. Aziraphale took a deep breath, raising his head and curling his fingers under Crowley’s chin.

“Now, my darling. It will be alright, one way or another. It has to be. We are the one thing I have truly unshakeable faith in.”

“’S blasphemy, angel.”

“My dear boy, I truly don’t care. I love you above all others.”

Crowley managed to smile a bit at that.

“Sorry. Hardly how I imagined our first morning as unlawfully wedded spouses.”

He grinned, but it was a pretence of his usual insouciance, and it hurt Aziraphale’s heart even more than his tears had done. Crowley was watching him with wide, trusting eyes, as if he still didn’t quite believe Aziraphale belonged to him. It seemed as appropriate a time as there’d ever be for the question Aziraphale had been mulling while Crowley slept in his arms.

“Crowley, my love.”

He leaned forward and feathered gentle kisses all over the demon’s face, kissing away the tracks of his tears.

“I was thinking. I should rather like to give you something of me that you can keep with you always, but that no one else can sense.”

“Not sure we’ve got time to figure that one out.”

Crowley muttered against his chest, but he sounded much calmer than before as he pressed soft kisses there, stroking the angel’s side. Aziraphale laughed and nudged the demon’s hair playfully with his nose.

“Oh ye of little faith.”

Crowley looked up at him, eyes blazing, then caught the cheeky smile on Aziraphale’s face and burst into laughter. It sounded like rain after waiting all day under heavy clouds, Aziraphale thought. 

“Angel.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. There was still fear in his voice, sitting rough around the edge of it, but there was hope and warmth too, and so long as there was a spark of that, Aziraphale felt that he could bear anything.

“I was thinking, my darling, about the way we each bless or tempt people. Fomenting, as it were.”

“Dunno about you angel, but I usually just put an idea in their mind.”

“Exactly, dear boy. I thought I might do likewise.”

Crowley sat up a bit, but pulled Aziraphale to lie comfortably across his lap as he did, as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching the angel for a second.

“You’re gonna have to explain this to me.”

“You see, I rather thought … oh, it’s probably silly really.”

Crowley squeezed him gently and Aziraphale smiled against the demon’s stomach, where his head was resting comfortably, finding the courage to go on.

“I thought if I were to choose a favourite memory of you, you see. It will be a hard pick, mind you, for I have countless. I could sort of … well as if I was tempting you, or blessing you. Instead of so doing, though, I would put my thoughts of you into your mind, so you would know how you feel to me, how I feel about you, what it’s like in my mind when I’m with you.”

There was a long silence, during which Aziraphale could only hear his own heart thundering in his ears. After a few tense minutes he raised his head to find Crowley gazing down at him with a look of amazement.

“You would do that for me, angel? It’s so intimate.”

“That’s rather the point, dear boy. I would be giving you a piece of me that no one could find, or take. I don’t expect you to do it back, naturally, but if you would like me to do it, I shall.”

Crowley pulled the angel up until he was sitting in his lap, both arms tight around him.

“I would be honoured, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled then, leaning in so he could nuzzle his cheek against Crowley’s, letting himself relax against the demon as he closed his eyes and carefully, with Crowley’s permission, activated the mechanism that allowed him to press suggestions into susceptible minds. He focused his entire attention on Crowley, letting his thoughts wash over the demon’s mind like warm honey. True to his word, he found it hard to choose a favourite memory of Crowley. He settled on their first kiss, in the flower-strewn cave in Mesopotamia; the moment he truly fell in love with the demon, and understood the power Crowley had to change not only his life but his heart and innermost self.

Closing his eyes, he nudged Crowley into thinking and feeling everything Aziraphale had felt on that night: The urge to kiss him that had been so overwhelming he couldn’t but act on it, and the awe as he gazed up at Crowley’s long cherry hair and flame-yellow eyes and wondered just how it was that one person could be so beautiful. The way he couldn’t stop staring at Crowley’s mouth, how his heart quickened with every touch, and the irrepressible shivers of pleasure that left him breathless and adrift with Crowley as his only harbour. And beyond all of that, the sense of utter safety, of home, as if he’d been created to fit against Crowley, to hold him, to pour love upon him until time was no more. He felt Crowley’s breathing grow ragged, matching the helpless gasps and shudders Aziraphale remembered from that night until they were holding on to each other, breathing hard as they kissed again and again, both of them lost in Aziraphale’s memory. It was as if the thoughts he was giving Crowley were a map, and Crowley was following it to learn Aziraphale’s love for him from the inside out.

It was Crowley who broke the contact, with a soft moan that raised goosebumps all over Aziraphale’s body.

“And I thought it wasn’t safe for us to be inside each other.”

He said with a ragged laugh, fingers buried in Aziraphale’s hair and lips brushing the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale laughed softly with him, drawing back slowly.

“You tempted me instead of blessing me … why?”

Aziraphale smiled at his demon.

“Same mechanism used to different ends, really darling. It seemed more fitting this way, though; more appropriate to thousands of years of longing for you every moment of every day.”

Crowley smiled back, his breathing returning to normal.

“Bless it all Angel, if that's any indication of what you can do, you must be stupdendous at taking my place during temptings."

Aziraphale laughed.

"I should hardly think anything could be as tempting as you, dear."

A look of pride flashed in Crowley's eyes, quickly followed by something softer and more questioning.

"All this talk of me being able to change you. Letting our energy flow together. You’ve never once objected to the idea or fretted that I might sully you somehow.”

“Well obviously, Crowley. I want that, you know I do. I want you as close as I am able to get you, my dearest boy. Now you know that, irrefutably.”

“I do.”

“That’s twice you’ve said that in the last two days.”

Aziraphale grinned and Crowley smiled brighter, but Aziraphale could see the worry drawn clear on his face. 

“Oh, my love.”

He gathered Crowley closer and kissed his forehead.

“Whatever’s coming, you and I have something that cannot be torn asunder. We must hold to that.”

He glanced at the winter sun growing brighter around the window, and made to get up, but Crowley pulled him back down.

“Not yet, angel. We have a few hours. And I think it’s my turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Family traditons (I really am playing fast and loose with the prompts again, I'm sorry!)
> 
> Song I had on repeat: Songbird (Eva Cassidy)


	23. The morning after that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley laughed at that, drawing the angel into his arms. They stayed like that until the day was fairly drawing on, and it was time to start the painful process of saying goodbye. Neither of them had much appetite, so they opted to skip going out to eat in favour of getting hot cider and strolling around the Princes Street winter fair, as they had several years ago. The nostalgia was comforting, and the feel of Aziraphale pressing close as they walked with their arms around one another was perfect. The evening was beautiful, the fair a wonderland of snowmen and icicles, lights and the delicious scent of cinnamon, hot donuts, and the pleasantly sharp tang of mulled wine. When a clock in the city started striking 7:00, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and took hold of his lapels, drawing him down into a long, searching kiss, tongue boldly exploring his mouth. When at last they drew apart, both were trembling, and Crowley was glad of the sunglasses that hid his tears.

**Edinburgh, the next morning**

* * *

_Can he ever truly understand what he means to me?_

Crowley wondered, stroking the sleeping angel’s hair softly so as not to wake him. For the second time in the last 30-odd years, Aziraphale had let himself drift into unconsciousness. Crowley missed him desperately, knowing how little time they had left, but it gave him a wonderful opportunity to linger over every detail of the angel’s appearance. Crowley watched his husband sleep, eyes taking in every detail of his lovely face, every beloved line, the perfect bow of his mouth, the way his frost-light hair stuck up like feathers, so soft. It was never enough. A thousand years of looking at him would never be enough.

But as it was, Crowley had twenty more hours.

Two nights, they’d said. And then because Aziraphale was nothing if not precise (and because if they didn’t set a time it would be impossible to tear themselves away), they’d agreed to spend their wedding night and the night after it in the Witchery, and then to take to the streets for a final day together, parting at 7:00 PM. It was now 11:00 PM on the day after their wedding, and they had time enough yet before they had to even consider rising.

If Crowley could put the last day on repeat and live there instead, he would. It had taken him a good few hours to come down from being tempted by Aziraphale. To experience the memory through the angel’s feelings and memories was the closest to divine ecstasy Crowley remembered being, even during his time as an angel. As he watched Aziraphale sleep, he wished he had a way to show him what it had meant. How seeing himself through the other’s eyes had given him an even deeper appreciation of just how trusted and loved he was. How adored.

Adored. The thought ran through Crowley like cool water, quenching the hot pain of knowing their parting was not long away, and with it all the uncertainty of the future.

“I need you to know it’s the same for me, angel.”

He murmured into Aziraphale’s hair, holding him as he slept. Aziraphale had said “you don’t need to do it back”, which Crowley had taken to mean he didn’t want that. Too intimate, maybe, or simply too, well, too like having a demon in your mind. Even if that demon was your husband.

But if Crowley had learned one thing in the last few decades of spending Christmas with his angel, it was the depth and strength of Aziraphale’s love for all of what he was. He thought back to that awkward but ultimately delightful night in Mayfair, spent curled up serpent-shaped on Aziraphale, snoozing peaceful in his protective embrace. _You are the serpent of Eden, after all. I do realise that’s who I’m marrying._ The frisson of pride in his voice had made Crowley feel warm through every scale, a feeling that had lasted for weeks after.

And now the clock was eating away at the minutes at an altogether too rapid rate, and Crowley was struggling to figure out how to do what needed to be done. He’d always been good at putting on a show. Working up that flimflam, convincing in his patter, deliberately infuriating, and painfully over confident. All that was crumbling around him like coral battered by a vicious tide. In just a few hours he had to find the strength to say goodbye, for now. Get up and walk away from this complex, infuriating, thrilling, too fucking loveable for his own good angel without collapsing on the pavement in agony. It already felt like his soul was being pulled out of him in strands. He had to find a way to communicate to Aziraphale what he meant. What this meant. Maybe he could be brave enough to offer, he thought, as he settled against his angel, breathing in the salt spray and rose scent of him.

Crowley had barely had time to make his decision when Aziraphale stirred and woke, his lips finding Crowley’s cheek and kissing him hello before he even spoke.

“Angel.”

It came out hoarse and urgent sounding, and Aziraphale was alert at once, seeking out Crowley’s eyes.

“Darling, what is it?”

Crowley stroked his chest softly, soothing him.

“No, nothing bad, angel. Just last night. Can’t stop thinking about it. Words, Aziraphale. They’re fucking little shits, honestly. I want you to know what it meant. Is there any way you might consider letting me do the same back to you?”

Aziraphale’s delighted expression was answer enough in itself.

“I was hoping you might ask! I simply didn’t want to intrude, dear boy. It was enough for me to know I'd shown you what I wanted you to see.”

Crowley felt a smile spreading across his face like wildfire.

“Really?”

“Crowley! Darling if it were possible, I would suggest we bid it all farewell this second and make for the farthest reaches of the galaxy.”

Neither of them needed to fill in the unspoken part, that Aziraphale could never abandon the world to its fate while there was still a sliver of hope. Crowley loved him for it.

“You are what I want most in this universe. I am thrilled, Crowley, and honoured, that you want to give me this gift.”

Crowley leaned in and kissed him long and soft, caught between smiling and crying against him.

“Well then. I thought I might use the same memory as you, if that’s alright. I kinda like the idea of us both understanding each other’s feelings that night.”

“Lovely idea.” 

Aziraphale gave him a reassuring smile, then turned onto his back, settling comfortably against the pillows, reaching for Crowley’s hand and squeezing it. Crowley stretched out on his side next to the angel, keeping hold of his hand as he gently, carefully asked for ingress into his innermost thoughts. Aziraphale gave it so easily, his lips parting on a sigh that made Crowley grip his hand tighter, his heart thundering. Slowly, tenderly he started to nudge Aziraphale’s thoughts into the form Crowley wanted them to take: The feeling of having a memory so astoundingly beautiful that it had carried him through hundreds of years. The sense of being allowed to experience a moment lovelier than any living person should be able to bear. Just as Aziraphale had tempted him, so he used his skills to bless the angel, offering him the benediction of millennia of love.

Aziraphale sank into it trustingly, letting Crowley guide his thoughts and feelings. As Crowley ghosted over the longing that had threatened to spiral out of control on that long-ago night, Aziraphale tipped his head back on a soft moan, back arching a little. Crowley bit his lip, wondering if he might simply discorporate there and then from the sight, negating the need to worry any further about Armageddon.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He asked softly. Aziraphale took a shuddering breath in and paused, but then shook his head minutely, keeping his eyes closed.

“Not if … if you don’t want to.”

Crowley traced his fingertip over Aziraphale’s hairline, then slid his palm over the feather-soft hair, guiding Aziraphale to use his own thoughts to recreate everything Crowley felt and knew that night. Aziraphale visibly shivered, his breathing quickening.

“It’s all your own thoughts, angel.”

Crowley whispered against his ear.

“No one will ever know. Only us.”

Aziraphale arched his back harder at that, the kind of groan Crowley had so long dreamed of hearing escaping his lips, making the demon dizzy. Without thinking – because really, how could he be expected to think at such a moment – Crowley pressed the words that had crossed his mind on that long-ago night into Aziraphale’s mind.

_“I want to draw maps to every star I ever hung, across your skin. I want to trace them with my tongue until you’re glowing with pleasure, brighter than even my best creations.”_

Aziraphale’s whole body tensed at that, his hand gripping the demon’s tight as Crowley’s name was torn from him on a shout. Crowley bit into his own hand to keep from sinking his teeth into the angel’s shoulder, quickly but gently drawing his thoughts back and trying to still the trembling in his own body.

“Shit, too far. I’m so sorry, angel.”

“Sorry?”

Aziraphale opened his eyes at last and turned to Crowley, lips bitten a distracting shade of deeper pink.

“Well dear, we simply must avert the apocalypse, so you can find reasons to be sorry more often.”

Crowley laughed at that, drawing the angel into his arms. They stayed like that until the day was fairly drawing on, and it was time to start the painful process of saying goodbye. Neither of them had much appetite, so they opted to skip going out to eat in favour of getting hot cider and strolling around the Princes Street winter fair, as they had several years ago. The nostalgia was comforting, and the feel of Aziraphale pressing close as they walked with their arms around one another was perfect. The evening was beautiful, the fair a wonderland of snowmen and icicles, lights and the delicious scent of cinnamon, hot donuts, and the pleasantly sharp tang of mulled wine. When a clock in the city started striking 7:00, Aziraphale turned to Crowley and took hold of his lapels, drawing him down into a long, searching kiss, tongue boldly exploring his mouth. When at last they drew apart, both were trembling, and Crowley was glad of the sunglasses that hid his tears.

“Courage, dear heart.”

Aziraphale leaned in and whispered against his lips.

“We are each other’s now. We have to hold to hope.”

Crowley didn’t trust himself to speak, but as he raised Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and pressed a loving kiss to his wedding ring, he knew the angel understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snowmen
> 
> Song I had on repeat: Here With Me (Dido)
> 
> Ahhhhh guys/gals/all presentations. I swore I wouldn't even try to write anything more smutty than a chaste kiss, and this is very tame and brief by any meaningful standards. But it's still A Lot for me and I'm scared shitless to post it! It fit the story though, so here we are.


	24. London / Edinburgh 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit folks, after all my "I don't imagine writing more than a kiss" they *spoiler alert* end up sleeping together, because it fit the story so perfectly. I kept the rating as M though as it's all fluffy emotional softlit stuff, not hardcore.
> 
> This is actually part one of what turned out to be a massive chapter, so I plan to write the rest soon. I have a feeling the final prompt will also be a two-parter, too.

**London, 2019**

* * *

Crowley was already gone when Aziraphale woke up on the first Christmas Eve after the apocalypse that wasn’t. He tried not to feel too bereft. The demon still snuck back to his flat in the wee hours occassionally. He needed time alone sometimes. Aziraphale understood. Everyone needs time to themselves, and he was always happy to potter around the bookshop, speaking softly to the books and finding ways not to sell them. Things had been a little strained lately though, if Aziraphale was being completely honest (something he could now thankfully do without fear of recrimination.) Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, worry settling like a coiled rope behind his sternum, rough and heavy. Some days, that thing that Crowley had told him the humans called “anxiety” swelled in his chest until it was suffocating all the words out of him. His thoughts kept ricocheting off their current peace and freedom and bouncing right back to the days before what had nearly been Armageddon. 

On the surface, everything was perfect. They spent nights kissing for hours on end, holding each other so close, finding new ways to drive each other crazy with pleasure, laughing together and whispering words of love and relief. Being free to spend so long gazing into Crowley’s gorgeous eyes, stroking his firebrand hair, lacing their fingers together, was like a dream. They’d gone out to eat countless times. They'd around St James’s Park, hopped on tour buses just for the fun of exploring the city, and gone to so many plays, concerts and galleries that Aziraphale thought they’d seen more of London in a few months than most people could hope to see in six lifetimes. Over and over Aziraphale caught himself absent-mindedly caressing Crowley’s wedding ring. When he did, Crowley would give him a secret, thrilled smile, and he was reassured by it. Crowley knew he was loved. Aziraphale did his best to show it in little daily acts of service, in a thousand gentle caresses and slow kisses, in telling the demon every day that he loved him.

Yet something felt broken. Not between them, necessarily, but more in Aziraphale himself. He was haunted by the subtle but powerful anguish on Crowley’s face when they met on the bench after their body swap. Oh it had been fleeting, but Aziraphale knew his demon. Being in Heaven, seeing what would have become the angel’s fate, had scarred him, and Aziraphale felt unequal to healing that scar. Or to healing anything, really. Some angel.

His mind drifted back, as it always did when he was alone, to the night after the apocalypse didn't happen. He would willingly let himself fall if it meant recapturing the connection they’d shared on that night. The only problem was, he strongly suspected it all came down to him unknotting his mental tangles, and that felt like an impossible task. 

* * *

**A few months earlier**

  
Lunch at the Ritz had been delightful. As they’d sipped the last of their champagne and talked animatedly about their adventures, a hush had slowly settled between them, heavy with meaning. As they’d both run out of things to say, Crowley had reached across the table and closed his hand over Aziraphale’s.

“We don’t have to hold anything back now, angel.”

Aziraphale felt himself smile, joy rising up in him like a firework, setting off sparks of amazement. 

“I have an idea.”

He told Crowley, whose answering smile said that whatever Aziraphale had in mind, it was quite alright by him. 

The demon’s smile was even brighter as Aziraphale pulled him into the Library Suite at The Witchery, which had somehow become vacant for that night (and if the train arrived some hours ahead of what should even be possible, well, it made up for all the times public transport was late.) Reaching up to cup Crowley’s face in his hands, he smiled adoringly at his husband.

“I couldn’t imagine our first time together being anywhere but here.”

Crowley nodded agreement, pulling the angel close and kissing him long and slow. There was no hurry, now, no need to squeeze as much passion as possible into the moment. Crowley kissed him like they had forever, because now, they did. He trailed his fingers slowly up and down Aziraphale’s spine, slowly changing the angle and pressure of each kiss as if exploring all the different ways they could fit together. 

“Oh, angel.”

He spoke softly against him, hands stroking down his back and upper arms as if Aziraphale was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

“Please, let me …..”

The naked longing in his voice raised goosebumps all over Aziraphale’s body, leaving him helpless to do anything but pull Crowley towards the bed, still kissing him. 

“Should I …?”

He ran his fingers down the front of Crowley’s shirt, opening the buttons as he went, wondering if they should undress the human way. With a laugh that ended in a low groan in his throat, Crowley shook his head and clicked his fingers decisively, removing every last item of clothing.

“They’re safe in the wardrobe, angel.”

He said with a saucy grin, pulling back the bedclothes and drawing Aziraphale into bed with him. As the angel settled face to face beside his husband, the demon reached out to run the fingers of both hands through his hair, smiling so brightly that Aziraphale thought he might fall apart, rendered by that smile into a thousand tiny mirrors, each of them reflecting Crowley’s love. His hand trailed slowly down Aziraphale’s side, settling on his hip, his thumb rubbing gentle circles there, so warm and comforting. Aziraphale couldn’t stop exploring Crowley’s beautiful face with his fingertips, mapping out every millimetre of that beloved face, the loveliest thing he’d seen in all his long centuries of life.

Crowley’s eyes didn’t leave the angel’s for a second, watching him carefully as he slowly moved both hands over his chest and stomach, mapping out every dip and curve, before letting them settle on the angel’s lower back and adding light pressure to draw him closer until they were pressed together, a million points of warmth heating their skin as they settled against each other. Aziraphale was dizzy, every tiny movement and breath making him feel light headed. His hands had taken on a life of their own, constantly and restlessly finding their way across every inch of Crowley’s skin as if having waited for so long to touch him, they intended to simply never stop. 

When his fingers trailed over the pulse in Crowley’s neck, the demon seized his hand and pressed a burning kiss to the palm, murmuring “angel” in a way that felt like fire licking up his spine. Aziraphale pushed his fingers into the demon’s hair, suddenly demanding, and Crowley raised his head to look in his eyes again, his eyes brighter gold than usual. Aziraphale let himself bask in that look for a second, then kissed Crowley with a depth and ferocity that surprised them both. 

“I want everything.” 

He whispered roughly against his lips.

“But right now, I … I ...”

He hesitated. It had been so easy to allude to all the things he wanted to do with Crowley but now the moment was here and it was hard to speak. How could thousands of years of longing fit into one moment, one night? How could he know where to begin when Crowley was an entire galaxy of wonder, and Aziraphale wanted to chart each star one at a time, and at great length?

Crowley smiled, his expression one of complete understanding and kindness. He leaned his forehead against the angel’s, breathing quickly and holding his gaze as he gently, reverently pushed Aziraphale onto his back and resettled on top of him. Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath, hands automatically settling on Crowley’s hips, nails digging in slightly. 

“I need ...”

He began, and faltered. Words seemed inadequate to explain the feeling rushing through him and shimmering in his veins, the need for Crowley that wasn’t so much desire, as desperation to finally be whole. Oh, of course he wanted to touch him everywhere, to explore warm skin with his lips and tongue, to learn where to lick and where to slide and press and move to elicit the most delightful reactions, but not now. That could wait. Everything could wait. They had nights and years and centuries and more for learning and exploring.

“I know.”

Crowley leaned down and kissed him like an incantation, like a gradual raising of holy energy. 

“It’s been.”

Aziraphale tried again, taking hold of Crowley’s hand and pressing frantic kisses to the palm and inside the wrist as he wrapped his legs around Crowley’s hips, pressing up against him.

“So long.”

Crowley finished, and though his eyes were blazing so fiercely that Aziraphale thought for a moment he must have been utterly intimidating as an angel, his voice was gentler than he’d ever heard it.

“Crowley, I can’t ...”

“Wait. Me neither. Let me?”

Aziraphale nodded quickly, arms coming up to wrap tight around Crowley’s shoulders as the demon’s long, clever fingers, already slick with oil, pressed slowly and carefully inside him. A soft expletive escaped his lips as he finally learned what it meant to feel completely alive, present and whole. 

“ok, angel?”

Crowley’s tenderness and concern undid him as much as the slow, careful but insistent movements inside him. His body was speaking its own language now, reciting a poem he’d learned before he ever knew words like love, lust, and need, back arching and legs wrapping more tightly around the demon’s hips. 

“Yes.”

He managed to whisper, though the word trailed off into a soft moan as he dug his fingers hard into Crowley’s shoulders. 

“Just … please.”

He could hear the unshed tears catching in his voice, the slow torture of waiting millennia for this moment weighing on him. Crowley seemed to understand, leaning down to press the softest kisses to his neck and shoulders and lips, whispering words of comfort and reassurance as he drew his fingers back, his hand moving to cup Aziraphale’s hip instead. Aziraphale couldn’t keep his limbs from trembling, his hips writhing of their own accord, as he gazed up at Crowley in anticipation. Crowley stilled for a second, looking down at the angel. 

Suddenly it hit Aziraphale all at once that they were free, that they would finally, after so long, know what it felt like to know each other from the inside. He felt a smile break across his face and Crowley’s answering smile was radiant as he gathered Aziraphale close, arms and wings wrapping around the angel as he slowly pushed into him until they were locked together, both of them laughing and crying together in wonder as they clung to each other. 

Aziraphale knew then that Crowley had never lost the stars he’d made, for he could feel them all rushing into him every place the demon touched him, until his whole body was ablaze with Crowley’s dark celestial light. It felt like falling into a night sky, like the lick of purifying flame, like complete and utter surrender. Neither of them could stop smiling, stop gazing at one another in wonder as they finally learned what it meant to have no boundaries between them. Starlight and fire flowed deeper and deeper into each other with every loving kiss, every press of hands against flesh, every cresting movement of hips against hips, every whispered gasp and helpless groan.

“I love you.”

Crowley told him softly, and Aziraphale heard all the other words behind it. _We made it. We’re safe. I get to know you like this._ He tried to say it in response, but his whole body was alight with longing, his breathing ragged and pleading, and the only word he could think of was Crowley’s name, shouted in love and wonder and joy as they crashed into each other like a sea that’s finally found the shore it calls home.

* * *

**The present day**

The memory made Aziraphale smile, even as he had to reach up to quickly swipe tears from his eyes. Every single time with Crowley was beautiful; the long, slow dance of carefully learning each other’s responses and likes was the loveliest undertaking. Yet still Aziraphale felt hollow. He was always holding back a little, and Crowley knew it. The demon was so gentle and careful with him, reassuring him every day that their life together was perfect, that there was no rush, that they could explore at their own pace. There was so much Aziraphale wanted to say, but the words sat like stones in his mouth, gradually wearing down to dust and filling his chest and abdomen.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling, scraping sound from downstairs, punctuated by the dearest voice in the world spilling forth a string of creative expletives (a few archangels’ names certainly made their way into it.) Aziraphale got up, miracled his clothes onto himself for once (because Crowley clearly needed help, but he had standards), and rushed downstairs. The sound was emanating from the door of the shop, where a very large Christmas tree appeared to be trying very hard to get through the door, and failing. A quick miracle and the tree was safely inside the shop, where it touched the ceiling as soon as it was upright, and a frustrated Crowley was looking up at it with his hands on his hips.

“If you were in my old flat, you’d have met the wood chipper by now.”

He scolded it. Before Aziraphale could say anything, he marched out of the shop and returned with five large cardboard boxes, putting them near the base of the tree.

“Crowley?”

The demon smiled as he walked over and wrapped both arms around the angel’s waist, gazing down at him.

“I know you love a traditional Christmas tree and I thought, it being our first Christmas not having to sneak around, why not go all out?”

Aziraphale smiled, but felt his eyes getting wet.

“You’re so good to me.”

“That’s right, tell the whole blessed world.”

Crowley groused, but there was no malice in it. 

“C’mon. You start unpacking the ornaments, I’ll make us some cocoa.”

Two hours later, the tree was bedecked with blue, gold, black, silver and red ornaments that shimmered in the hundreds of softly twinkling lights wrapped around it. Crowley stood back to appraise it, hands on his hips.

“That’ll do.”

He pronounced, pulling Aziraphale close and kissing the top of his head. 

“Now, angel. Gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Sitting curled on the comfy old sofa, so close to Crowley that he could feel every breath, Aziraphale started to consider that maybe it was safe to tell the demon what was on his mind. He remembered the night Crowley had retrieved him from the theatre box and they’d walked in the park. Crowley had understood then, and he’d been so patient and loving since they’d swapped bodies. Well, he’d been so patient and loving since six thousand years ago. 

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“I know we’ve been taking things more slowly than we thought we might, after that first night in Edinburgh ….”

Crowley leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“If you’re about to apologise for not ripping my clothes off or demanding I take you across the desk, I’m gonna yell at my plants in frustration, and you wouldn’t want to be responsible for that, would you?”

He gave the angel a cheeky smile, and Aziraphale laughed. Crowley was watching him with warmth and kindness, and Aziraphale found himself smiling at his husband, stroking his cheek and smiling brighter at the way Crowley turned to kiss his fingertips.

“I should have talked to you sooner.”

“But you weren’t ready, and that’s alright. Angel I promise, if I’d needed us to talk, I’d have said. But these last months, just spending every day with you, holding you every night, making love with you, have been bloody glorious. And yeah I’ve been sad knowing you’re sad and not knowing how to help, but I have faith in us. I knew you’d talk to me when you were ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, trusting the demon implicitly. Then slowly, haltingly at first, he started to talk. Crowley kept him held close, listening as he talked about the weeks leading up the prophesied start of the apocalypse. Voice catching, he told Crowley how terrified he was that he’d betrayed him, his own husband, with his words at the bandstand. How he regretted not running after him immediately after their fight on the street. How that insidious voice, that had been silent for a few years, had come back with a vengeance, telling him that he wasn’t allowed to love Crowley, didn’t deserve to love him. How he couldn’t figure out how to enjoy their new life together when his mind insisted on replaying everything; and how that quickly spiralled into guilt over not being fully present and joyful and free with Crowley.

“So then that voice and the guilt start playing together and make the world’s worst vicious cycle?”

“Something like that.”

Crowley leaned his forehead on the angel’s. 

“Wanna figure out how to help you with this, angel. What can I do, right now?”

Aziraphale thought about that. Crowley was gazing at him openly, his look completely open and honest, inviting Aziraphale to take a step towards him, trusting Crowley to catch him. And he did. He trusted him implicitly. 

“Could you.”

He began, then paused to clear his throat and straighten his bow tie. 

“Could you, if it’s true, tell me that I haven’t broken anything, not only by my words at the bandstand, but by being … a little sad since we started living together.”

The smile Crowley gave him was so infinitely gentle that Aziraphale found himself wondering how, exactly, the demon was real. He was so lovely, in every way.

“Darling, do you remember Mafeking? Even back then you warned me that sometimes, if things got high pressure, you might say – have to say, for your own safety and mine – things that weren’t strictly true. Honestly Aziraphale, I asked you to abandon the entire earth and run away with me. Pretty sure you wouldn’t be the person I love if you’d just gone “yeah, sure, let it all burn!””

“We weren’t married back then, dear boy.”

“I forgive you. I already did, but in case you needed to hear it.”

Aziraphale smiled faintly, fingers worrying his waistcoat buttons in an old habit. Crowley tilted his face up to look at him. 

“So, angel. Gonna tell me what you’re holding back?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say no, no dear boy, that’s all there is. But then he caught the warmth and love in Crowley’s eyes and suddenly he felt safer than he knew it was possible to feel. Curling as close to his demon as possible, he wrapped his arms around his waist and began to speak, nestled against his husband.

* * *

(to be continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Trimming the tree
> 
> Song I had on repeat: Never Let Me Go (Florence + The Machine)
> 
> Oh dear LORD I was nervous writing this. But I wanted to write the best conclusion to their six thousand years of longing, and this was it. Do other authors nearly die of fright posting this stuff? Or is that just me?
> 
> Three more posts to go though! I'm so glad the last prompts are both gonna work out as two parters so I can spend a couple extra days with these soft fluffy lovely boys :D


	25. London 2019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley was vaguely aware of his wings bursting forth from his back and moving in the air, and his hands moving to grip Aziraphale’s white wings as they spread wide in echo. But then his energy, the hellfire, the stars, all of it, was pushing and curling through and around Aziraphale’s essence of holy fire and moonlit snow and the angel was moaning and clinging to him, and Crowley lost all sense of his own edges. He heard both their wings beating, but it was a distant sound, for Crowley was in free-fall through the fathomless depths of the angel he loved more than anything else in the universe, and everywhere he fell Aziraphale caught him. He existed in two places at once, feeling Aziraphale’s hands on him, hearing his words of love, hearing the cry wrenched from his own throat, yet at the same time falling far, far from the world into a place where every sensation was Aziraphale, where his essence whispered constantly against Crowley’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which our favourite ineffable husbands finally do that essence-melding thing immortal beings obviously have to do sometimes, and Crowley learns that he really likes when Aziraphale calls him "demon" in *that* tone.
> 
> (I adore praise!kink Crowley but I've had a head canon for ages now about Aziraphale talking about his demonic nature in loving, longing terms).

**London, 2019 (continued)**

* * *

They talked long into the night. Crowley held his angel close, listening without judgement. Some of the issues he raised they’d talked about already, but that was ok. Crowley was always happy to offer extra reassurance, just as he knew Aziraphale would do for him. The angel had been quiet for a few minutes, his head resting on Crowley’s chest. Crowley reached down to gently brush the tears from his cheeks.

“Angel, we’re together now. That’s all I honestly care about. Kinda reckon we both atoned for any past mistakes when we, you know, walked into heaven and hell for each other.”

Aziraphale smiled uncertainly at him.

“I know I can’t just ask you to talk to me more in future and expect that to flip a magic switch that makes it easier to say what's on your mind. But angel, d’ya think you could agree to tell me when you can’t talk? Just say to me, _I’m a bit stressed and words won’t work_. So I know and can be there for you?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“I can do that, if you think it’s important.”

Crowley smiled gently and pulled Aziraphale close, They passed a happy hour snuggled up in front of the fire, at peace with each other. Crowley was tracing his fingers up and down the front of Aziraphale's shirt, playing with the buttons thoughtfully.

“There’s something I want to try.”

He said quickly, looking up. Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow, but under the touch of sass there was gentleness. He knew Crowley tended to blurt things out when they carried immense weight, or made him nervous.

“Been meaning to ask since the day after our wedding. The thing we did with memories. I want to try again, but this time I don’t want to bless OR tempt you, and I don’t want to think about the past. Just want to, show you how I feel. All of it, all of me. No barriers.”

Aziraphale sat up at that and leaned forward to kiss him adoringly, murmuring “oh, Crowley” against his mouth, followed several breathless kiss-bruised minutes later by “please.” Crowley shuddered at the slight keen in his voice, pulling out of the kiss to gaze intently at his angel.

“I mean no barriers.”

“I got that dear boy.”

“None.”

“Yes Crowley, dear, I am following. I know I was a little upset before, but I haven’t become insensible.”

“Yeah, but, it would be my thoughts in your mind this time, not your own thoughts mimicking mine.”

“Crowley, darling, I don’t know how many different ways I can say ‘I understand.’ Should you like for me to get up and do a little interpretive dance for you? Wave a placard?”

Crowley couldn’t repress a most un-demonic giggle at the image.

“Have you ever let another being that close to your thoughts? I haven’t. What if I hurt you, being a demon now? And where would I stop? Just thoughts? Thoughts and feelings? Weird occult ethereal energy blending stuff? Actually yeah this is probably a bad idea ...”

The reasons it was a bad idea were swallowed by a kiss that left him gasping. Aziraphale drew back, hands on each side of Crowley’s neck as he looked into his eyes with celestial fire that jolted through him, reminding him of who and what exactly his husband was.

“Darling, do you recall what I said in the middle of last century – that it was necessary to hold back around you because if I let go, I wouldn’t know when to stop? There’s nothing to hold us back now. Oh please don’t misunderstand me, my love, I already feel so very close to you in every way, and each time we make love I feel even more so. I can scarce believe I get to be so intimate with you after waiting so long.”

Crowley gave him a wicked grin.

“We’ll just have to keep going then, to reassure you.”

Aziraphale laughed, but his eyes were still blazing with that unearthly light. Realization whooshed through Crowley like a sudden opening of wings: There was nowhere Crowley could fall that Aziraphale would not catch him.

“But perhaps it’s time for … a little more?”

Crowley inclined his head in agreement, but his heart was doing strange things that made him glad he wasn’t technically reliant on it.

“What if you, um, don’t like it?”

He said in a tiny voice that made him cringe. 

Aziraphale sat back on the sofa, framed by the flickering fire in the grate and the lights on the Christmas tree. With gentle, confident hands, he pulled Crowley to straddle him, running his hands reassuringly down his thighs. Looking up at him openly, the angel reached up and tucked Crowley's hair, which was a little longer these days, behind his ear.

“Demon.”

He said softly, but his tone said _sacred, beautiful, worthy of awe_. A jolt of lightning shot up Crowley’s spine and he grabbed the angel’s lapels, hard. Aziraphale looked surprised, but completely unafraid.

“I’m so very sorry for all the times I used your nature as an insult. It was quite unforgivable.”

“Don’t care about that.” Crowley rasped out “Knew you had to toe the party line. But the way you said it then, hell’s sake, angel.”

“Should I not? You refer to me as angel, why shouldn’t you being a demon be as beautiful to me?”

Crowley spluttered. He hadn’t meant to and it was most undignified, but his brain appeared to have short circuited.

“I don’t love you in _spite_ of what you are, my serpent of Eden.”

Aziraphale explained patiently.

“I love all of who and what you are. I fell in love with the demon Crowley. My infernal lover.”

Crowley’s hands slid from the angel’s lapels to the sides of his neck, leaning down and kissing him hard.

“Keep talking like that.” He growled quiety against him “and I’m going to forget why I was even nervous about this.”

Aziraphale grinned against him, voice low as he spoke.

“That’s the entire idea, my flame-born paramour. You are everything, Crowley. Darkness and stars and light and fire. I said once that I wanted you to paint me with starlight. Now is the time, my unholy love.”

Every word blazed with angelic power, and the holiness combined with the sheer blasphemy of it being used for those words undid Crowley completely. Squeezing his legs tighter against Aziraphale’s hips, he grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him fiercely and reverently, trembling as he let go completely and allowed his essence to spiral outwards to collide with Aziraphale’s. They met like galaxies being born, in an explosion of stars and flames that felt like it could rewrite the world. 

Crowley was vaguely aware of his wings bursting forth from his back and moving in the air, and his hands moving to grip Aziraphale’s white wings as they spread wide in echo. But then his energy, the hellfire, the stars, all of it, was pushing and curling through and around Aziraphale’s essence of holy fire and moonlit snow and the angel was moaning and clinging to him, and Crowley lost all sense of his own edges. He heard both their wings beating, but it was a distant sound, for Crowley was in free-fall through the fathomless depths of the angel he loved more than anything else in the universe, and everywhere he fell Aziraphale caught him. He existed in two places at once, feeling Aziraphale’s hands on him, hearing his words of love, hearing the cry wrenched from his own throat, yet at the same time falling far, far from the world into a place where every sensation was Aziraphale, where his essence whispered constantly against Crowley’s own.

Crowley was vaguely aware that he was pressing desperately against the angel, getting as close as possible, hands tearing away layers of clothing and teeth sinking in to each newly-exposed area of snowsoft skin. He heard Aziraphale’s answering moan rumble in his chest, and felt his nails raking Crowley’s back and chest, but then he was falling into him again, barely aware of either of their bodies as they tumbled to the floor. He felt the weight of Aziraphale on top of him, and the demanding way his own legs bracketed the angel’s hips and urged him down and into his body, the way miraculously ready, but then he was lost again as he felt both their pleasure sizzle through every cell like a supernova. He saw the stars he thought he’d lost, wheeling around him in the space between worlds where he and Aziraphale now existed. He felt feathers on his skin and eternity on his ethereal form. He saw them standing on the wall of Eden, but this time they kissed and their love covered the world, rewriting it and keeping it safe. He saw Aziraphale’s holy fire glowing brighter every time his own infernal fire touched it, the flames parting like hidden doors to let Crowley inside. Their atoms met like a billion binary stars orbiting each other, and Crowley was vaguely aware of Aziraphale crying his name, hands gripping his wrists and pinning him to the floor as their bodies shuddered together at the eye of the storm.

When Crowley eventually regained command of his body, he slowly opened his eyes to the sight of Aziraphale breathless above him, blonde curls plastered to his forehead, fingers tracing Crowley’s lips slowly. For a second Crowley was sure he saw familiar star charts traced on the angel’s skin in the faintest silver.

“Should have just done that in the first place.”

Aziraphale muttered, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Crowley’s throat.

“Satan himself couldn’t argue with that much power.”

“Well, we’ll know what to do next time.”

Crowley grinned, pulling the angel down to rest against him, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders and cradling him close as they came to rest. As their bodies grew still, Crowley could feel their holy and infernal essences weaving more tightly, cleaving together as if determined never to be parted again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Trimming the tree (part two)  
> Song I had on repeat: The Fighter (In This Moment)
> 
> It seems like an odd choice for this scene lol but this lyric makes me think of Crowley:
> 
> I will not hide my face  
> I will not fall from grace  
> I'll walk into the fire, baby  
> All my life  
> I was afraid to die  
> And now I come alive inside these flames
> 
> Two more chapters to go! :D


	26. Edinburgh, 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale rubbed the demon’s upper arms solicitously.
> 
> “You poor long suffering demon. I promise to take you back to bed and make it up to you later.”
> 
> Crowley grinned and leaned down for a long kiss.
> 
> “What a promise. So, why’d you want me to get up in the first place?”
> 
> “I made you something.”
> 
> Crowley’s eyes lit up with excitement. Aziraphale felt his chest growing warm. Making Crowley happy was addictive. Taking the demon’s hand, he led him to the spiral wrought-iron staircase in the hallway, that led up into the roof space, and which hadn’t been there when Crowley fell asleep. One of the perks of marrying a serpent who could sleep like it was an Olympic sport was that one could spend the whole night using a series of minor miracles to renovate one’s house, and said demon would barely stir. Crowley looked up the stairs curiously, then took them two at a time (and Aziraphale was quite sure only someone who was part snake could travel up a spiral staircase at that speed.) As a result, he arrived at the top of the stairs while Aziraphale was still several steps behind him, giving Aziraphale the joy of hearing his delighted gasp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, we're on the home stretch. This is pure fluff <3
> 
> (Hey, lovely readers who've followed along with this and supported it? I am going to CRY writing the final chapter tomorrow. I still can't quite believe this happened. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SERIES OF ONE SHOTS.)

**Edinburgh, 2020**

* * *

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

Crowley opened one eye sleepily as Aziraphale kissed his forehead, a flash of brilliant gold that made Aziraphale shiver with delight.

“S’only Christmas Eve, angel.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Well obviously dear, that’s when Christmas starts, as far as I’m concerned. Besides,”

He added in a softer tone, nuzzling close to his demon,

“We met on Christmas Eve as often as Christmas Day, perhaps even moreso.”

Crowley smiled at that, opening both eyes and stretching, before pulling Aziraphale flush against him. Aziraphale grinned and pinched his thigh playfully.

“As utterly tempting as you are darling, you need to get out of bed. I have something for you.”

“Something you can’t give me here?”

Crowley enquired with that nearly-innocent smile that made Aziraphale shake his head fondly. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of the demon’s nose, then all over his cheeks, unable to keep from smiling against his skin. Aziraphale had always had a great capacity for joy, but even so he didn’t remember ever smiling as much as he had in the last year. The morning after he and Crowley had finally torn down the last barriers between them, he’d awoken with the peculiar but delightful sense that every celestial atom inside him was perfectly attuned to its matching infernal pair in Crowley, like two counterpoints of a melody.

It was the same morning they’d decided to move to Edinburgh. They’d gone out for a walk in St James’s Park, and as they neared the bandstand, they both stopped walking, the atmosphere growing tense.

“Reminders, all the damn time, angel.”

Crowley had commented, and it was true. Gabriel harassing him in the bookshop. The bar where Crowley had gone to drown his sorrows when he thought Aziraphale was dead. Even the street outside the bookshop, where Aziraphale had stood feeling so alone, watching Crowley drive away. Crowley stared at the bandstand for a few minutes longer, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightening.

“Would you maybe wanna …. be somewhere else for a bit?”

Aziraphale turned to ask him “where?” but he saw the answer in Crowley’s eyes before he asked. The gothic dream of a city where Crowley had proposed, where they’d got married, where they’d made love for the first time … it was the only choice.

A year later and they were settling in for their first Christmas in their new home, an elegant Edwardian town house set just back from Princes’ Street, Edinburgh's main throughfare. A.Z. Fell & Co. had a new location with a view of Edinburgh Castle, and equally erratic opening hours.

Scotland was far colder than London, a fact about which Crowley loved to grouse, but of course their home was always the perfect temperature and it was really just an excuse for lots of warm baths and nights spent snuggled close under a blanket. Even so he made a dramatic show of dragging himself from the warm cocoon of the four poster bed with its luxurious purple and cream silk sheets and counterpane, and obscene amount of thick, soft blankets and brocade throws, quickly getting dressed.

“I might just freeze to death now.”

“You’re just so mistreated and put upon. I have no idea why you stay with me.”

Aziraphale rubbed the demon’s upper arms solicitously.

“You poor long suffering demon. I promise to take you back to bed and make it up to you later.”

Crowley grinned and leaned down for a long kiss.

“What a promise. So, why’d you want me to get up in the first place?”

“I made you something.”

Crowley’s eyes lit up with excitement. Aziraphale felt his chest growing warm. Making Crowley happy was addictive. Taking the demon’s hand, he led him to the spiral wrought-iron staircase in the hallway, that led up into the roof space, and which hadn’t been there when Crowley fell asleep. One of the perks of marrying a serpent who could sleep like it was an Olympic sport was that one could spend the whole night using a series of minor miracles to renovate one’s house, and said demon would barely stir. Crowley looked up the stairs curiously, then took them two at a time (and Aziraphale was quite sure only someone who was part snake could travel up a spiral staircase at that speed.) As a result, he arrived at the top of the stairs while Aziraphale was still several steps behind him, giving Aziraphale the joy of hearing his delighted gasp. 

Aziraphale was more than a little bit relieved (he’d been caught between “he’ll love this” and “what if it’s a painful reminder") as he ascended the last two steps to join his husband in a room that resembled nothing so much as the inside of a galaxy. Purple and teal nebulae billowed across the walls, ever-changing, while star maps shimmered in the air and tiny constellations swirling around them. Even the huge comfy cushions and soft blankets had been miracled to look like swathes of the night sky, brought to earth.

“What the fuck.”

Crowley breathed in awe, then turned to Aziraphale, eyes wide. He reached out to brush his fingers against a tiny star as it drifted past him.

“Everything I made. You made your own versions.”

He managed, at last. Aziraphale flushed slightly.

“I learned it all when we let our energy join together, you see. I … oh I know it’s not the same, I mean the scale had to fit in a room for a start, and they’re made of a little of your energy and quite a lot of mine plus some starstuff I managed to get hold of, but I...”

What else he would have said, neither of them got to find out, as Crowley’s mouth was pressed to his, long fingers in his hair. When they drew apart, Crowley’s face was streaked with tears, and he couldn’t stop stroking Aziraphale’s hair and face and collar, pressing little kisses everywhere he could reach. Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment, fingers tightening in Crowley’s shirt. 

“There’s a telescope too,”

He managed at last, his voice shaking slightly as he drew Crowley to the centre of the room, to show him the telescope that pointed up at the skylight that absolutely hadn’t been there last night. Well, technically it was a skylight. Thanks to a little angelic intervention the entire ceiling resembled an ever-shifting night sky.

“Let’s say it’s a little more powerful than its design and size should allow.”

Crowley gave him a curious look.

“Oh?”

“It will show you any celestial object you wish to see, anywhere in the universe. If you can’t always reach the stars you made – I mean, practically speaking we cannot always live in that beautiful in-between space we found when we merged - then I thought I could bring them to you.”

Crowley shook his head, trying and failing to speak. In the end he settled for sitting on the nearest star-woven cushion, pulling Aziraphale into his lap, and kissing him there in the centre of their own universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Holiday jumpers (though those don't actually feature till tomorrow's chapter.)  
> Song I had on repeat: All Of The Stars (Ed Sheeran)


	27. Edinburgh 2020, and the rest of their lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m just thinking, my dear, of how it felt when you honoured me by letting your energy fully into me. It occurs to me that it might feel … rather pleasant … if you were to do that again, to the rest of my feathers. And perhaps if you liked, I might do the same to you.”
> 
> Crowley didn’t need to be asked twice to do anything that involved being close to his angel. Lazily snapping his fingers he miracled up a few candles (terrified into not letting their flames so much as look at any flammable object) and some rich, heady incense to add to the atmosphere. Aziraphale smiled approvingly, and Crowley settled against the headboard and pulled Aziraphale to sit between his legs so he could set to work. He slowly stroked and groomed each feather in turn, letting his demonic energy spark gently over them. When Aziraphale made a soft noise of approval and turned practically boneless as he sank against him, Crowley started following each caress with a series of kisses down each feather, learning as he did that they tasted of ice and honey. Seen up close they weren’t pure white, but rather iridescent, gleaming with soft bands of lightest blue, pink, silver and gold.

**Edinburgh 2020, and the rest of their lives**

* * *

Edinburgh was vibrant with festive spirit as Crowley wove his way back to their house, his arms full of supplies. They’d spent most of the day in the beautiful star themed room – and how the fuck would Crowley ever manage to express what that meant to him? - though his attention had been less on the stars and more on how Aziraphale looked in their light. Eventually though, as darkness drifted over the city, Crowley had volunteered to go out and find them some festive sustenance. Only problem was the vast amount of choice. The stacks of packets and boxes he’d picked up seemed more suited to a small army. Still, food had a habit of staying fresh in their home, so at least they’d have something to nibble for the next day or twenty.

The door obligingly opened at Crowley’s approach, and he strode through with his packages, depositing them in the kitchen, fishing out the fresh hot mulled wine and taking it through to the lounge, which was decked out for the season. The tallest tree that would fit in the room took pride of place, decorated in red and gold, while the mantelpiece was festooned with a green garland accented with twinkling lights. The flat was a fusion of their styles – deep colours, tall windows, gothic chandeliers and grand fireplaces, accented with cosy throws and antique furniture that looked well-used. 

“Angel, what are you wearing?”

Aziraphale looked up at him, a slightly bashful look flashing across his face. Crowley stared in amazement, discombobulated by the fact that his husband, who until that point still religiously wore his trusty old waistcoat every day, was wearing a jumper. A festive one. A red festive jumper with a white snowflake and Christmas tree pattern, emblazoned with the words “I’m on the naughty list.” He looked sinfully adorable, Crowley thought to himself. It really wasn’t fair, especially given how much of the day it had taken him to tear his hands and mouth away from the angel. Sometimes he wondered which of them was being tempted around here.

“I thought it might be festive. You don’t like it?”

Aziraphale said, a little primly.

“I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.”

Crowley grinned and earned himself a beleaguered sigh. He easily ingratiated himself back into the angel’s good books with the delivery of the mulled wine, and some absolutely sumptuous Christmas cake and good Wensleydale cheese with cranberries to accompany it. Sitting beside his angel on their comfy overstuffed red velvet couch, Crowley thought he could stay there all through Christmas, and said so.

“Well, we might. We hardly have any obligations darling.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully.

“I do seem to recall you saying you wanted to spend whole winters in bed with me. Glasgow, in 1966, I think.”

Aziraphale laughed.

“So I did, darling. Well, it would hardly be seemly to renege on such a promise. And I do have a place on the naughty list to keep up.”

Crowley leaned in for a long, unhurried kiss. The mulled wine was thoroughly cold and in need of a quick miracle by the time they drew apart, and Crowley’s hands had spent a long, happy time mapping out every inch of his angel, rejoicing in the soft sounds and slow movements his touch elicited. Crowley was about to suggest now would be a good time to move to the bedroom, when Aziraphale pre-empted him, standing and offering the demon his hand. As Crowley took it and let himself be tugged to a standing position, he noticed Aziraphale stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders, looking a little pained.

“Angel, what is it?”

“Oh nothing serious dear boy. Shall we?”

Crowley tilted his head to one side, in what had become their universal signal for “stop hedging and start talking, dear.”

“Ah, ok. It’s just that my wings are overdue grooming.”

“Let me? You can keep the jumper on if you want a chaste grooming session instead of me getting distracted by your gorgeous naked body.”

He teased, but Aziraphale hesitated, a detail which Crowley, ever hyper-alert to every stormbreak and sunbeam of his angel’s emotions, seized on at once.

“You don’t want me to?”

“No … no, it’s not that dear. It’s only that they really are rather a mess.”

“Let me see.”

Aziraphale nodded, leading the way upstairs to their bedroom, taking off the jumper, his waiscoat (which, to Crowley’s fond amusement he was wearing under it), and shirt so he could more easily open his wings. He winced slightly as he stretched them out. Crowley was horrified to see they were unkempt and ragged-looking with feathers sticking out at odd angles, as if every vane had been brushed the wrong way. Crowley could practically feel the sensitivity and irritation.

“They didn’t look like that when I stopped time at the airbase.”

He ventured, confused.

“They were still settling back in. New corporation and all. Unfortunately, now it’s quite bedded in I’m afraid they’ve returned to their former state.”

“They were quite alright last year, in the bookshop. The night we let our cores merge. And just after our wedding.”

“I had just groomed them on those occasions, dear boy. They’re normally fine for a little while after I do so."

“But why, Aziraphale? Why do they get into this state between times?”

It made no sense. His normally fastidious angel would never let his wings get so ragged.

“Ah. Well.”

There was a long silence.

“Angel?”

“They get tangled quickly.”

“They get …. what does that even mean?”

Crowley sat down beside him, and gently but firmly turned Aziraphale’s face to his.

“What happened to your wings?”

Before Aziraphale could answer, Crowley spotted it. One single black feather, tucked in among the secondary coverts, obviously positioned so as to be well-hidden. Worry was raising its head and threatening to start bellowing any second. Aziraphale saw the direction of his gaze, and spoke quickly.

“That night in Wales, remember my dear?”

How could he ever forget? Decades hadn’t dimmed the horror of seeing Aziraphale’s back so burned, nor the terror that he might fail in his audacious plan to pull down enough divine grace to heal him.

“That one feather simply never heals, no matter what I do to it. And, apparently it upsets the rest of them. Like a broken spoke throwing a wheel off balance.”

Crowley frowned. It might only be one little feather, but to him it was the whole world and he wasn’t at all content with knowing it was hurt.

“Is it painful?”

“A little. It feels a bit like a splinter. It does rather look as though I’ve taken a stroll in a hawthorn thicket between groomings, and it takes more effort to use them to conduct divine energy.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully, stroking the injured feather carefully.

“Seeing as we’ve already tried merging energy and the world didn’t implode, maybe I could help it?”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned over to kiss him, his eyes clearly saying he was more than happy with the idea. Crowley ran his fingertips down the feather again, this time letting his infernal energy touch it. Aziraphale tensed for a second, but before Crowley had a chance to panic, he released the tension in a satisfied sigh. 

“Feels better.”

“Good.”

Crowley moved along the bed until their thighs touched, and he was close enough to lean over and kiss Aziraphale’s wing softly, which effort rewarded him with a delightful shiver.

“Congratulations dear, you’ve found the one part of my body you haven’t kissed yet.”

Crowley laughed at that, wrapping both arms around the angel’s waist and pulling him closer against his chest, bending his head to press gentle kisses against his wings, breathing in the petrichor and lightning scent of them, with softer top notes of violets and snow. Aziraphale let his hand drop to Crowley’s thigh, stroking slowly. Crowley was struck by how the angel’s touch was both delightfully easy and familiar, and yet achingly new and almost too good to bear, every single time.

“I’m just thinking, my dear, of how it felt when you honoured me by letting your energy fully into me. It occurs to me that it might feel … rather pleasant … if you were to do that again, to the rest of my feathers. And perhaps if you liked, I might do the same to you.”

Crowley didn’t need to be asked twice to do anything that involved being close to his angel. Lazily snapping his fingers he miracled up a few candles (terrified into not letting their flames so much as look at any flammable object) and some rich, heady incense to add to the atmosphere. Aziraphale smiled approvingly, and Crowley settled against the headboard and pulled Aziraphale to sit between his legs so he could set to work. He slowly stroked and groomed each feather in turn, letting his demonic energy spark gently over them. When Aziraphale made a soft noise of approval and turned practically boneless as he sank against him, Crowley started following each caress with a series of kisses down each feather, learning as he did that they tasted of ice and honey. Seen up close they weren’t pure white, but rather iridescent, gleaming with soft bands of lightest blue, pink, silver and gold.

“Fuck, your wings are so beautiful.”

He murmured against them, and was rewarded by a long sigh and a very noticeable shiver. Smiling, he slowly passed both hands down over Aziraphale’s wings, smoothing them out before continuing his ministrations. Then he made a sharp sound of horror, drawing both hands back as if the angel’s wings had burned him, clambering off the bed.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale was on his feet in seconds, but Crowley thrust his hands out in front of him as he backed away.

“Your wings!”

He pleaded, tears suddenly burning his eyes.

“What have I done? Angel, no!”

As Aziraphale curled one wing to look at it, Crowley turned away and just sagged against the wall with his face to it, unable to bear the expression he anticipated seeing on Aziraphale’s face, the horror and disgust that would surely follow.

“Oh. Oh, how lovely.”

“Lovely?”

Crowley stammered.

“Lovely.”

Aziraphale repeated firmly, and Crowley felt warm hands on his back, comforting him. He could feel himself trembling uncontrollably, and had the sudden impression that what little control he had left was spread gossamer thin and moments away from snapping. He wanted to scream. But Aziraphale was so carefully, gently turning him so they were face to face, gazing lovingly at him and stroking his chest in that way Crowley always found so soothing.

“Everything’s alright, Crowley.”

He said, his voice tinged with angelic power.

“Look.”

He gently stretched out one wing, clearly displaying the way the primary coverts had become a patchwork of black and white feathers. Crowley looked, and it felt like something shattered inside him at the sight.

“You’re falling.”

He managed to choke out between sobs.

“I am doing no such thing.”

Aziraphale reached for his husband and led him to the bed, sitting him down with a loving but firm hand pressed against his shoulder. Sitting beside him, he took one of Crowley’s hands gently in his own, and resumed stroking the centre of his chest with the other, the sweeping movements slow and rhythmic. 

“I knew it was too good to be true. I knew I’d hurt you. Why did I agree to let our energies merge? What are we going to do? I can’t fix this.”

Crowley could hear the words tumbling from his mouth in a panic, but when he tried to stop them the little buggers became utterly uncooperative.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, dear boy.”

That shimmer of angelic power again, sending bolts of silver lightening over Crowley’s skin and into his veins. 

“You are going to reach into my energy, specifically my wings, and tell me what you find. You won’t believe me unless you see it for yourself. Can you do that for me, Crowley?”

If it had been anyone else asking, Crowley would have said no, he wouldn’t let his demonic energy stretch out one millimetre. But it was Aziraphale, his husband and angel, the one who called him “demon” in that loving tone, and shivered when he felt his infernal energy. If Aziraphale really believed it was alright …

He tentatively felt his way into that vast space of holy fire and winter storms, eyes squeezed tight shut. When he reached the feathered swirl of energy that represented the angel’s wings, he stopped. In that space, he couldn’t so much see Aziraphale, as feel him in every atom of his being … and Aziraphale was smiling. In the places where his feathers were both black and white, the energy was quite different. Instead of pure angelic energy, or infernal energy for that matter, it was something entirely else indeed. Something that was both of them, like a blood red eclipse over a serene winter beach. It was fire and light sparking wildly through a cool, soothing night sky. It was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen. Understanding at last, he drew back so he could look at Aziraphale’s corporeal form. The angel was watching him with a smile.

“What did you find?”

“Us.”

“I want more of that.”

Aziraphale said simply. Crowley nodded in response. He did too. It was, all told, the only thing he’d ever truly wanted.

“Then let me give it to you.”

He said quietly. 

“I’m not afraid any more.”

Aziraphale’s smile brightened like the sun rising as Crowley reached out again and let the truth of the words wash over the angel. He wasn’t afraid any more. He trusted what he’d seen, and he trusted Aziraphale’s intuition. He wrapped both arms around Aziraphale and pulled him close.

“You’re trembling.”

Aziraphale whispered against his neck.

“Are you sure you’re alright, my dear boy?”

Crowley nodded, hoping the honesty of his gaze and the eager way he set to removing the rest of the angel’s clothes, and his own, would suffice for a response. He opened his wings as they slid between the covers, wrapping them around Aziraphale, being careful of the angel’s ruffled wings. Aziraphale leaned up to kiss him with so much love that Crowley felt it sparking throughout his body and coming back out his fingertips as he ran them across Aziraphale’s skin, slowly adoring his broad chest, his soft belly, and the silky-smooth skin at the creases of his hips.

“Mine.”

He whispered softly.

“Yours.”

Aziraphale agreed, his hands sliding around Crowley’s waist to trace patterns up and down his back. Crowley’s heart grew more peaceful than he’d ever known it to be, as if it knew it was going home, as he slowly continued where he’d left off, smoothing and kissing every single feather, touching each of them with unholy fire. For a few moments, Aziraphale was lost in it, breath coming in short gasps, a low moan escaping him every time Crowley pressed his lips to a feather. By the time Crowley reached his secondary coverts, he was responding in kind, stroking and kissing Crowley’s black feathers, bathing them in angelic energy. Crowley felt untamed, made wild and careless by the love and trust inherent in Aziraphale wanting him like this. His hands clenched and unclenched in soft angelic feathers, occasionally breaking to stroke quickly over the angel’s body, as if learning him for the first time. The energy was coming in waves now, merging and swirling together like leaves chasing the wind that bears them up. Aziraphale’s wings were changing under his hands and mouth, becoming a mosaic of glossy black and shining white feathers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the same thing happening to his wings, some of the feathers changing from midnight to moonlight. Aziraphale’s hands were buried among his feathers, leg curled over Crowley’s hip as they slid and rocked together, his mouth pressed to Crowley’s ear, whispering litanies of praise for everything he was and would ever be. Crowley was lost in it, and never wanted to be found.

Day turned to night to day and back again and again and an angel and a demon knew nothing of it. In their world there was only the whispered prayer and answering plea of fingers caressing skin, quiet gasps of adoration, and two sets of black and white wings brushing against each other. Outside the snow began to fall as two star-blessed lovers followed a trail of stardust into a place where time and separation were no more, and there was nothing but the song of night and fire finding each other at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Holiday jumpers  
> Song(s) I had on repeat: Anywhere (Evanescence), The Messenger (Linkin Park)
> 
> It's done! I'm a little in shock that this came out of my fingertips, lol. To everyone who read and commented, thank you so much. I've caught the bug now, so expect plenty more ineffable husbands fics (for a start I have to finish Ghost Love Score, which also started as a one shot and took on a life of its own - I'm starting to see a theme here.)
> 
> PS - I made a playlist of all the songs I listened to while writing this. Link: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLGcvniigu7OH84Bt34lBZ6_IJ91T45e_5


	28. Edinburgh 2021

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> It being the first anniversary of this fic made me so nostalgic, that I couldn't resist popping back in to see how Crowley and Aziraphale were enjoying life in Edinburgh. This is what I found, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Because I set the end of ATS in 2020, the ringing of the New Year has brought Aziraphale and Crowley into 2021! So this is their little postcard to us from the future ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like where the fic ended, you can leave it there and disregard this chapter which is, quite frankly, self indulgent fluff because I missed these boys!
> 
> The baked potatoes are based on a delicous baked potato shop in Edinburgh, sadly not there anymore, that really did sincerely make the best baked potatoes I've ever tasted. I'm certain even Aziraphale would approve of them.

“Hey angel. I brought those baked potatoes you’re so fond of.”

So saying, Crowley flung open the door of their Edwardian home in Edinburgh’s elegant New Town. He found Aziraphale in the dining room, pouring some good red wine. He looked up when Crowley approached, giving him that smile Crowley so loved, the one that could light the city easily.

“Hello my darling! How thoughtful of you to get us dinner.”

“I know how you feel about miracled food, and I’m feeling too lazy to cook.” Crowley put the containers on the table and went to the kitchen to fetch plates and cutlery. “You’re lucky anywhere was open! Honestly, who thought it was a good idea to make the 2nd of January a bank holiday?”

Aziraphale was oddly silent, considering it was nothing but a grouchy aside. Crowley grinned. He knew that silence as well as he knew Aziraphale’s speech patterns and voice.

“Angel?” He prodded, leaning in the doorway with plates and cutlery in hand.

“Oh, alright. It was me. I accidentally added a couple of extra bank holidays to Scotland’s calendar, back in the 1970s - Boxing Day and the 2nd of January.”

“You what?” Crowley placed the huge piping hot baked potatoes on the plates. His was topped with noodles in peanut sauce, while Aziraphale preferred a traditional potato with lashings of butter, salt and pepper, and a generous serving of grated cheese.

“Well, you remember the Christmas we spent in Glasgow, in 1966?”

“Obviously. You told me you wanted to spend whole winters in bed with me - kind of hard to forget.”

Aziraphale laughed at that, reaching out to take Crowley’s hand. It was such a free and easy sound. Because they were free. They could do this now. “I could not stop thinking about it.” He told Crowley. “I longed so desperately for you. And somewhere in my heart, I knew Scotland would always be special to us.”

“So you added Government holidays? How … romantic?”

Aziraphale swatted his forearm lightly. “As i said, it was unintentional. I was thinking of how wonderful it would be if we could have more than one night together. Imagining being able to step away from the world for longer than one night each winter, just to spend more time in your arms.”

Crowley pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh when Aziraphale was saying such beautiful things, but it was impossible to keep it in. The thought of the angel accidentally creating extra bank holidays, of all things, had him laughing till he wheezed, eventually coming to rest with his forehead on the table, shoulders shaking weakly.

“I was emotional!” Aziraphale protested, but Crowley could hear the mirth in his voice too.

“How angelic of you, giving all those evil banks two extra days when they can’t open.” Crowley sniggered, finally sitting up, wiping away tears. Aziraphale was slightly more composed, but his eyes were bright with laughter, and he was clutching his sides. Shaking his head, Crowley dug into his baked potato (which hadn’t dared go cold). “Satan’s sake, these really are the best baked potatoes in the Northern hemisphere. I don’t know how they do it.”

Aziraphale nodded agreement, sampling a forkful of his own potato, and making a deeply appreciative noise that sent a tingle down Crowley’s spine. When the plates were cleared, he took Crowley’s hand and drew it to his lips. “Let’s go and sit in front of the fire.”

“Never gonna say no to that.” Crowley took the plates to the kitchen and gave them strict instructions to miraculously be clean again. His angel was in a relaxed, happy mood, and waiting by the fire. No time to wash dishes. But there was time to make them coffee, using the Dolce Gusto machine that Aziraphale had so objected to, but now loved. Maybe one day Crowley would actually persuade him that he would love a Kindle once he got used to it. On the other hand, maybe one day pigs would fly past their window and Hell would become a luxury resort. 

The fire was crackling in the grate when Crowley walked into the living room, handing Aziraphale an espresso macchiato, while Crowley enjoyed a sweeter, more milky latte macchiato with added salted caramel syrup. Sitting down beside his angel, Crowley took a moment to simply breathe it all in. All of this was his, now. The beautiful elegant house, a lively and breathtaking city to call home, and most importantly of all, he shared it all with his angel husband. He got to wake up every morning to soft kisses and murmured enquiries as to whether he had slept well. 

Some nights, he had dreams of a bookshop in flames and a pain so deep he thought he would die of it. But on those nights, he would wake to find Aziraphale had sensed his distress and was waiting with a hot drink to sip, and fluffy black and white wings to snuggle into.

And some days, he caught Aziraphale staring off into the middle distance with a look of desperate worry. When he gently roused him, Aziraphale would flinch at first, as if his mind was not completely present. But the sound of Crowley’s voice soothed him - a fact Crowley found impossibly touching - and before long he would be fully present again, laughing at one of Crowley’s quips, or chiding him for misplacing one of the angel’s books.

“What are you thinking?” Aziraphale asked with warm curiosity, and Crowley realised he’d been staring into space for several minutes.

“That I get to live here, with you, and I can hardly believe it.!

“Believe it.” Aziraphale put his cup down and moved closer, turning so he could pull Crowley into a long, soft kiss. “This is ours. And I’m yours.”

Crowley shook his head, words failing him, opting instead to simply kiss Aziraphale again, pushing his hands under the thick Aran jumper the angel was wearing so he could feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s body through his shirt. They lost several long minutes then, content to do nothing except kiss one another. 

When they drew apart, Aziraphale brushed his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone.

“I’ve been thinking lately about what we might do, now we are free. We’ve been here for a year now, and I find myself eager for something to challenge my mind. I am so very relieved to be free of Heaven and Hell, and I would not get involved with them again for the world. But now I am not so hunted all the time, I find myself longing for new challenges.”

“Me too.” Crowley admitted. “Now I don’t have a temptation quota, I have more free time, and I’d like to find something to do with it. Something fun.”

“We could do anything.” Aziraphale said, pressing a kiss to the back of Crowley’s hand.

“That’s my favourite part about it. The world is ours and we can choose our own path forward.”

“I might open a second bookshop.”

“And let someone else within twenty feet of your books? Unlikely.”

“Alright then. You might open a restaurant.”

“And cook for someone who isn’t you, angel? Also unlikely.”

“I could take up magic again.”

“I beg you not to.”

Aziraphale giggled. “At this rate we will be here till next Christmas, having got no further than a vague discussion, most likely distracted by kissing.”

“I can think of worse fates.” Crowley said, earning himself a cheeky look from the angel that set his heart to fluttering.

“Me too, my darling.” Aziraphale told him, pulling him into a long, slow kiss, warm hands exploring and treasuring every inch of Crowley’s body. Crowley kissed back, taking the time to explore the angel’s lips thoroughly, biting gently at the lower one just to feel Aziraphale shiver, sliding his tongue between the angel’s lips and moaning at the way Aziraphale instantly parted them to give Crowley access. It was a perfect moment, Crowley thought. Simple and human and alight with desire and warmth and words of love dropped like honey between kisses, as they savoured their own little slice of forever.


End file.
